


Alone Together

by TottyTottyTotty



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Antagonism, Arguing, Attempted Sexual Assault, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bad Writing, Bisexuality, Canon as best as I can get it, Casual Sex, Consent Issues, Cowboys, Crossdressing, Deep throat, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Diary/Journal, Difficult Decisions, Dirty Talk, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Drunken Flirting, Dubious Consent, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Fucking, Falling In Love, Fantasizing, Filthy, First Time, Flirting, Friendship/Love, Frottage, Funny, Graphic Description, Gun Violence, Heartache, Heavy Angst, Holography, Hurt No Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Consent, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, In Character, Internalized Homophobia, Interracial Relationship, Jealousy, Large Cock, Lingerie, Loneliness, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, M/M, Mass Death, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, Novel, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Past Sexual Assault, Pillow Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poker Nights, Porn Video, Porn Watching, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Premature Ejaculation, Prostitution, Rejection, Roommates, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Roughness, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Sex while injured, Sexual Inexperience, Slow Burn, Small Penis, Smoking, Snooping, Star-crossed, Stupidity, This Is STUPID, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tragedy, Tragedy/Comedy, Trapped, Uncircumcised Penis, Unrequited Love, Very Secret Diary, Virtual Reality, Voyeurism, Western, Wrestling, artificial reality, big penis, gagging, suicide joke, video game violence, virtual reality death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TottyTottyTotty/pseuds/TottyTottyTotty
Summary: It's extremely lonely out in space. How they deal with it is not necessarily healthy.Explores their entire star-crossed relationship from Series 1 - TPLI plan on doing 2 short stories per series and one for TPL and BTE as well as a conclusion (25 stories total, 14 chapters), so it's ambitious. Wish me luck.With this many stories happening you can probably tag this with every NSFW tag under the sun.
Relationships: Arnold Rimmer/Original Female Character(s), Dave Lister/Ace Rimmer, Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer, Dave Lister/Original Female Character(s), Kristine Kochanski/Dave Lister
Comments: 48
Kudos: 39





	1. Series 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning (slight spoiler)
> 
> Ok folks, I didn't want to label this as "non-con" but there is some serious denial and improper consent behavior so tread carefully. The M/F stuff is all in chapter 2 and the consent problem is mostly chapter 3 but may be in later chapters a little bit as well.
> 
> Nothing in this fic is meant as an endorsement of the behavior. It's just porn. And it's meant to be a dramatic and possibly upsetting story at times.

"Don't you get lonely?" Lister asked, rolling over in his bunk. 

"Lonely?" Rimmer scoffed, straightening and admiring his H in the mirror. "It's only been 6 months. Loneliness is for layabouts anyway, Listy. Don't get me wrong, a few dozen ample-bosomed blondes would make a fine addition to the crew, but I have  _ bigger _ things to concern myself with."

"I keep telling ya, if you overinflate Ingrid, she'll pop."

With a dismissive, snide smile, Rimmer corrected him. "Ambition, Lister. Duty. Responsibility."

"Rimmer, your  _ one _ job around here is to keep me sane, and you're bollocks at that."

“I’m Acting Senior Officer! I'm in effective command of Red Dwarf, I’ve got the entire ship to worry about!”

Lister rolled his eyes dramatically. “But don’t you get  _ lonely _ ?!” He flopped back down, staring nowhere, wistful. “Smegging hell... I miss me mates. I miss women. I miss making  _ love _ ." He threw his hands up. "And shagging too. I - I miss going on the pull in a dodgy pub on shore leave, shagging a mad, gorgeous,  _ mad _ bird senseless and never seeing her again. I miss Kochanski. I miss being in love."

"Love?" Rimmer’s voice went up an octave. He patted down a wrinkle in his uniform. “A waste of time, effort, and money.”

With deep exasperation, Lister shot Rimmer daggers. “Forgot who I was talking to. What would you know? Your love life hasn’t changed a bit. Well,  _ I’m  _ not used to it, man.” Absent-mindedly he chewed on a lock. “I'd kill for just a hug, like, just from anyone, I don't care. Just human touch. Skin on skin."

“Touch?  _ You _ miss touch?” Rimmer swung around, plainly offended. “Try not being able to touch  _ anything. _ Not a pen, not a button, nothing. How do you think I feel? _ A hug?  _ You're whinging about a hug? Go hug your flea-bitten moggy. Meanwhile, the S.S. Snuggles sailed  _ permanently _ for old Arnie about three million years ago.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Lister held his hands up in defeat. “I’m just… smegging lonely.” He muttered to himself.

...

It was 2 AM ship time when Rimmer was jarred awake by the sound of Lister stumbling into the room. Groggy and annoyed, he pulled the hologramatic duvet above his eyes and groaned. 

Lister, with a small giggle, bumped into the table, making a clunk followed by soft shushing. He patted the tabletop affectionately then began to struggle to take his jacket off in the dark. 

“Unbelievable. You’re more rat-arsed than Algernon with a tenth the IQ.” Rimmer grumbled, wide awake now. 

“Plastered like a brat’s knee!” Lister slurred, laughing at his own joke.

"Again."

Lister successfully pulled the leather jacket off, leaving it on the floor, nearly joining it himself. "Yeah, 'again.' What, mad I didn't call, luv?"

Rimmer sneered, unseen in the dark. “You’ve woken me up with your one-man buffoon parade four nights in a row now. If you’re going to get blind drunk, at least have the decency to pass out in the corridor so I can get some shut-eye.”

“Don’t worry, dearie,” Lister said, sing-song. “You know I always come home to ya.”

“Shut up and just go to sleep.”

“Jus - oof - just gotta get off me kecks.” Another small crash as Lister toppled into more of their belongings. Rimmer squeezed his hands over his ears, trying to ignore it. Lister had mostly held it together for the first year since he was revived, but the last couple months had been different. This was starting to get old.

“Hey…” The scouser was giggling. He was on the floor near Rimmer’s bunk now. “Hey… budge up.” More giggling.

Rimmer couldn’t feel a thing but he heard his thin mattress squeak. God. The pissed gimboid had climbed into his bunk with him. Instinctually, he rolled over to complain, but all that came out was a vague sound of shocked indignation. In the faint light from the corridor, he could just make out Lister’s body  _ inside _ his own intangible presence, their noses almost touching. The intimate position stirred up a feeling of deep violation the hologram couldn’t quite articulate.

Stained with vindaloos and smelling like cheap cigarettes, Lister slurred out a question, “Hey… what’s wrong with yer face?”

“My face??” Rimmer sputtered.

Intense brown eyes, unsteady and dilated, studied him to the point of discomfort. Then an expression of understanding bloomed. “… ‘s just yer H.” A groggy smile, barely detectable, “Shiny. Looks good. Brilliant.” 

Those were his last words before drifting immediately into an unshakable sleep, assisted by more than a night’s worth of Leopard Lager. 

Rimmer didn’t budge for a while, running through his mind what to do. He could call the scutters to drag Lister out. He certainly didn’t want to move to the filthy upper bunk. Maybe he could find one in another room. Or if he yelled and turned on the lights, perhaps the gimp would manage to move on his own.

In the end, Rimmer lay down quietly, his body half engulfed by the other. There was no sensation he could detect, just the unsettling feeling that this wasn’t normal. He watched the last man alive breathing quietly in peace. Why did the idiot drink like this? He was a smegging mess. Of all the people to be stuck with out here...

Rimmer drifted off several times, sleeping fitfully. Finally, awoken by chainsaw snores and ashtray halitosis, he got up and made an early morning of it.


	2. Series 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains M/F

Sober, Rimmer had little trust in Lister, and he was sober most days.

Yet, Lister was the only one around he could really talk to, and, to his surprise, the scouser listened. Being able to get things off his chest, standing in the observation dome overlooking the cold expanses of space, was something he never had before. Divulging his inner thoughts without a laugh in his face felt different. For a moment, he could imagine they were friends. 

Then, Lister would do something smeggy like pull a humiliating prank or they’d fight bitterly over his newest innovative way of being slobby. Rimmer would be reminded that no one really truly ever liked him. He supposed it was pity he was getting. He supposed pity was better than nothing out here.

Still, he let his guard down now and then.

They did their best to pepper their tedious routine with invented events. A game here, a party there. Having learnt Cat didn’t know his birthday, Lister had declared a particularly boring Monday to be the date for celebration. They raided a disco with karaoke on C deck and howled in delight as Cat ‘sang’ in screeching caterwauls.

Looking around, the party was hardly impressive, but it was clear Lister had tried. Drinking games and color-coordinated decorations. He even spoiled Cat on a proper New York cheesecake. The feline's hair stood on end when they lit the question mark candle on fire, but he soldierly blew it out and ate the entire dish with gusto.

“It’s his first birthday party,” Lister had said when the hologram questioned why he’d bothered to bake. Rimmer recalled his own deathday spanner cake fondly, though he’d never admit it.

For a gift, Lister presented a real fur blanket - nicked from the officers’ deck - big enough to be converted into whatever Cat could imagine. He had purred.

Rimmer’s gift of sensible white socks only got a sideways look.

Between Lister's rendition of 'She's Shady' and Holly's stilted 'Mr. Blobby,' they brought out the baggy of cat nip.

Later, after Holly crashed and Cat slinked off for a hard snooze, the party had fizzled out. The place was a mess. Bits of clothes were strewn about from an unfinished game of Strip-Cluedo and Cat had shredded the streamers with enthusiasm somewhere around 1 AM.

With a heavy, satisfied sigh, Lister stood up, wobbly. "Right. Let's go before we end up checking into hotel floor."

Completely shit-faced, he made a motion to grab Rimmer's arm but his hand whisked right through and he nearly fell forward. "Oh yeah…" he giggled, stumbling. "C'mon."

They bumped along the corridor, clipping through each other as they swayed. Rimmer's cheeks burned from his simulated cocktails and he was in one of his rare good moods. Lister's enthusiasm was contagious. 

"Cat seemed pleased, eh?" Lister asked rhetorically.

The scouser beamed.

He likes making people happy, Rimmer realised, looking at the gerbil-cheeked grin. It was the happiest he’d seen Lister in a while.

With Holly offline, Rimmer couldn't switch to pyjamas, so he just collapsed into his bed looking like a disaster. His bunkmate had no such excuse but did the same. 

"Cat songs are _brilliant,_ like, imagine the record sales. Set it to thrash metal, the Finns would eat it up."

"Oh, ‘s that what that garbled shrieking was?” Rimmer countered, “I thought it was an interpretive reenactment of being neutered."

Lister stuck his head down to look at Rimmer. His hat fell to the floor with a flop. “Naaah man, a _deep_ , heartfelt love song for a lady cat.” Then with a sloshed laugh, “Couldn’t you tell?”

“I’m afraid sappy yowling is wasted on me.”

“Got no romance in your heart, you. Lights."

The instant dark felt wonderful on Rimmer's aching eyes. The spinning in his head died down. He could hear his bunkmate settling in above him. 

After a pause, Lister piped up again, "What about your love letters to Carol McCauley, eh?” Rimmer bristled quietly at the reference as Lister prattled on, “That was pretty sappy. Except the bit about being _horny_. I mean everyone is horny, you just don't say it out loud, man. She was a looker though, your type all the way: blonde and top-heavy."

"I suppose." Rimmer grumbled. He was a little too inebriated to put up a fight.

"If me dream girl walked through that door right now, she'd have brown hair. Dark, straight, brunette hair down to her perfect arse. She works out, see. Just the right mix of skinny and strong. So you get that lovely perky arse and flat stomach.”

He paused again as if for comment, but Rimmer kept his lips awkwardly sealed.

“Not too short,” Lister continued in a soft sort of voice, “But I like it when she has to stand on her toes to kiss. And smart. And funny, she’d make me laugh my arse off then throw me into bed for a proper shagging.”

The bedsprings on the thin mattress squeaked slightly.

“What about you? Who’d you wanna see walk in?”

“Lister I don't -”

“ _C’mon_ , tell me. It's just guy stuff, man. I wanna hear.”

Rimmer licked his lips and tried to think. “Anyone?” The simulated liquor still had his tongue loose.

“Yeah, your perfect girl, natural 10.”

“The perfect woman…” Rimmer said slowly. “The perfect woman - perfect mind you - would _have_ to have McGruder’s arms. My God, those boxing champion arms.”

Lister made a small noise of amusement, “Go on?”

“McCauley’s gorgeous, curly, golden hair, definitely. Tall and really, really slim with an hourglass waist. Voluptuous thighs and long legs. Plump, grabable rear-end. And big, _superbly_ shaped tits. _Marvellous tits._ _Stupendous_ tits. The kind that defy gravity, with perfect pink nipples.” On the last word Rimmer’s voice was a little hoarse.

A light, breathy reply came from the top bunk, “Reminds me of Pete Tranter's sister. God… she’d wear these shorts, _skin-tight_ , and do her fitness routines right in front us. Whatever she was doing, it was working. Her arse was so round. What I would have done to walk up and give it a squeeze. I made up any excuse I could to come ‘round to Pete’s.”

Rimmer closed his eyes as Lister spoke, imagining two plump cheeks bouncing in front of a workout video. He noticed stiffness developing in his underpants and adjusted himself slightly. This ‘guy stuff’ was getting to him. He probably would have minded more if his mind hadn’t still been swimming from the drink. As it was, there was a little thrill to it. Imagining was all they got anymore.

"One day we're in Pete's kitchen, she comes in wearing a new perfume. Walks by and wafts it into me face. I told her I thought it was nice and she gets real close, _so close,_ right up on me and makes me sniff her neck."

He inhaled long and deep, mimicking the sniff, ending with a satisfied "Ahhh."

“And then,” Lister continued with a gentle stress of yearning in his voice, “there was this blonde bombshell I met at a flat party in art college. Now, she was fit. Perfect body, a Greek goddess. Kept giving me glances and smiles across the room." His voice sounded far off like he was daydreaming. “Never said a word to me all night until she leans over, touches me hand and whispers in me ear, _‘come with me.’_ I about _did_ in me trousers right there.” 

Rimmer heard the mattress above move slowly with a low creak as Lister’s voice caught in his throat. He recognized the sound, having lived and slept so close to it for so long. He couldn’t quite tell if Lister didn’t realise he could hear him having a wank, or was just too plastered to care.

“D’you wanna know what she did?” The scouser asked. The silence hung there for a moment. This was Rimmer’s chance to tell him to shut his fetid gob and put his tackle away. 

“...What?” He said instead.

With a murmur of pleasure Lister spoke again, “Mmm, She pulls me by the hand into a bedroom, locks the door, and unzips me. No 'how do you do,' no kiss, just right to the business, this one. She had these big, gorgeous lips and long fingers. She just slips me cock out and swallows it.” At the last sentence his voice dipped lower, as if telling a secret. 

Rimmer, hard as a rock now, stroked himself lightly through the cloth. If he was quiet, there’d be no harm in following along he told himself. It was dark and the two men couldn’t see each other. His hands floated slowly to the zipper of his uniform. In for a pennycent, in for a dollarpound.

“She does this thing - oh!” Lister's breath caught, “Sucked it in deep but with her tongue out. And I mean _deep._ Just when I think me head’s going to explode, she stands up and takes her dress off.”

Rimmer started lazily moving his hand up and down, envisioning a peephole bra, lacy and purple, with matching knickers.

“ _Brilliant_ , just, gobsmacking. She pushes me back on the bed, wild, kissing and biting and ripping me clothes off. I’d never been _attacked_ like that. Brilliant. I sneak me hand in her knickers and, _ohh smeg,_ man… she’s soaked. Me fingers just fit right in and I’m knuckles deep in this fantastic, velvety, fantastic, wet pussy. Perfect pussy. Pink and fat and totally shaved.”

Rimmer bit his lip hard. This was far more… explicit than he expected. The visual danced in his mind, exciting him as his hand caressed the length of his hard on. The sounds of Lister touching himself weren’t subtle anymore, but still he kept his voice low. Rimmer could imagine what he looked like, cock in hand, just a meter above.

“I pull her knickers down, see, and I just gotta have a taste. It’s like the _juiciest_ peach you’ve ever eaten, man. Made a mess of me. Smeg, it was beautiful, the way she _fucked_ me face. Pulled me hair.”

Rimmer was all in. His panting was loud now, he was sure it was obvious but he couldn’t control it. It didn’t matter. They were in this - whatever this was - together, and there was no backing out.

“Then she just pushes me down and starts riding me. Riding me _hard_ , like. I’m just trying to keep up, this girl, she’s mad. I don’t even know her name, and she’s riding me so hard I forget mine. So I’m just pounding into her wondering how I got so smeggin’ lucky. She’s tight too. Her pussy is like heaven. It’s squeezing me cock -”

“Oh smeg, yes.” Tumbled out of Rimmer’s mouth before he could stop it.

A small breathy, “Mmm,” of acknowledgement came from the upper bunk, and then, “Can you see her? Can you feel her pussy wrapped around your cock?”

A high pitched whine was all Rimmer could muster in response. 

“I’m inside her and it’s so tight and good, like she’s sucking me soul out through me cock. Every stroke I think I’m going to lose it. Finally I just roll her over and start pumping as hard as I can, as fast as I can and she’s screaming…”

With a throaty groan, Rimmer toppled over the edge. He’d never had much stamina, and being talked to like this was too much. Cheeks flushed, breath faltering, he began to spill hologramatic cum over his own hand and stomach. 

“Yeah, can you feel it too, man?” Lister egged him on, “I’m cumming hard. Cumming inside her tight pussy. Wet and tight.” His voice was shuttering. Through the haze, Rimmer guessed his bunkmate was close as well.

For an extended moment, nothing but raw, heavy panting filled the room.

Then, a long, rough, “ _Smeggg!_ ” as the scouser hit the crescendo of his own orgasm. 

No more words were spoken. They both listened to the sound of the other’s breathing. First, ragged and exhausted, then slowly fading away to silence, too light to hear. The numbers ticked forward on the clock and, after an eternity, a small snore floated down from above. 

Rimmer let his dizzy mind go blank as he slipped into unconsciousness. In the morning there would be no mention of this.

...

  
  


"Lister, you know how it went last time I touched the damned thing."

"This isn't Better Than Life, they’re different T-I-V games, you can't smeg it up."

"I don't know, are you absolutely, totally, absolutely sure?" 

Lister shrugged, "You're pretty top notch at smegging things up, but these games don't take prompts from your mind. Come on guy, bet you'll love it." 

Rimmer frowned but reluctantly stood to follow his bunkmate to the AR helmets. Lister gave him a wide, cheeky grin. “That’s it, mate, you could do with a bit of fun.”

As they walked, Lister, giddy, pulled two round T-I-V canisters out of his jacket. "I reckoned you'd like one of these. Look, look." The game on top had an 1800s era ship of war bobbing on the open ocean, a British regiment flag trailing her in the wind. Across the top it read in neat, flourished calligraphy, 'The Far Side of the World.'

"It's set in the Napoleonic wars, see." He poked the cover with a stubby finger, "You play Lucky Jack, the cleverest captain in the Royal Navy." 

Rimmer's eyes slipped from the picture up to Lister's smiley face. This was bizarrely thoughtful. Would Lister actually be interested in a war game? Shaking his head he dismissed the thought. 

"I don't know, maybe. Can't you play as the French?"

"Erm..." Lister flipped it over to check the back.

"Nevermind, I get seasick. What's the other one?"

"Oh, well, this one you'll love." He brandished a green canister with a bust of a greek looking man on the front. "Alexander the Great: An Interactive Biography. Authentic as smeg." A smile of excitement flashed across Rimmer's face and Lister’s grin broadened in celebration. "We have a winner!"

Rimmer's smile dropped, "What's going on, since when are you interested in these kinds of games? This isn't some elaborate prank?"

The scouser shrugged. "Cat's no fun with these, he doesn't like rules or plot or nothin. Just want to play _something_.”

He was wary, but Rimmer accepted this explanation and didn’t push it further. Maybe he could cultivate a bit of good taste in his companion after all.

They rounded the corner to the drive room and Lister eagerly plugged the cartridge in. “What year do you wanna start on?”

The hologram bent to study the screen a moment and pointed. “Here. Right after he consolidated Greece, before he entered Persia.” 

Lister selected the appropriate date. “Ok, this chapter starts in a Sym… Symposium - what’s that?”

“It’s like an aristocratic party.”

Lister nodded, “Brutal. There’s 3 settings: Conversational, Storyline, and Revelry.”

“Conversational, Listy!” Rimmer said with decisiveness. “Ah, the chance to pick the mind of the greatest military leader of the ancient world! To swap battle strategies and secret tactics with an intellect like that. Extraordinary.”

“Should be fun seeing him well sloshed.” Lister shrugged, typing in the remainder of the settings.

They placed their respective helmets on, pressing the electrodes into their heads with a click. A stupefied expression spread across their faces as the drive room faded and was replaced with smooth white columns and draped curtains.

The two men looked around themselves to catch their bearings. They were in some sort of foyer, sparsely decorated but clearly opulent. Through an open balcony nearby the whole of Athens spread out under an evening sunset. Rimmer lit up with awe.

Lister snorted back a laugh, “What are you wearing, man??” 

The hologram’s head snapped down to inspect his wardrobe. A loose-fitting robe clung to his right arm and slung low across his waist, leaving his bare chest exposed. He shuffled a bit, unsure of how well it would stay up and self consciously pulled the top across to cover more skin. 

He sniffed with pride, “This is the attire of an intelligent, wealthy man of learning and honor, Lister. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” His eyes flitted across his bunkmate’s figure, “Besides, look at yourself.”

Lister peeked down to see an off-white tunic lined with red and gold stripes. It was short, riding up his thighs. He cleared his throat. "I rather think it suits me."

“Gentlemen!” A voice called. They turned to see a heavy-set man in a robe, his arms wide. His round cheeks were rosy and he seemed absolutely delighted. “So glad you are here, well met! Come, the other guests are awaiting you.”

“And - Alexander?” Rimmer enquired. 

“Of course! You honor him with your presence. He has saved a spot right next to himself. Come, come!”

The man quickly ushered them into an adjacent room. This area was larger, lined with wreaths, leafy garlands, curtains, and round decorative shields. Along the walls were long red benches, each with one or two men reclining on cushions and speaking in lively banter. Everyone had tables full of wine and fantastic foods laid before them. At one end of the room, a great terrace overlooking the city, and in front a golden-haired youth in a military-style tunic stood to greet them. He was muscular but short and slight, and his neck had a quirky bend to it as he waved them over.

“That’s him?” Lister chuckled. “He’s a titchy little thing.”

“He’s only 20, Listy. That 'titchy little thing’ just conquered the whole of Greece and is about to wallop the Persian Empire. The man was dead at 32. By 32 you’ll be lucky if you’ve figured out what fairy liquid is for.“

Lister considered this, “Live fast, die young. Brutal.”

Rimmer wasted no time cosying up to the young ruler, lavishing simpering praises as he took the end of the bench closest to Alexander. Lister perched on the other end, hesitant to recline and thoroughly ignored. 

An olive skinned boy stopped by to pour dark wine into wide cups for everyone and the last man alive took a deep, thankful pull. Rimmer side-eyed this behavior.

“Cheers,” Lister nodded, a little dribbling down his chin. It was no lager, but it’d do. Rimmer turned away with a scowl of disapproval.

Realising he wouldn’t be a part of Rimmer’s conversation, Lister instead turned to chat with the others.

“So,” He licked his lips, “Where are all the birds? Bit of a sausage party, eh?” With mortification, Rimmer swung his head around. 

“ _Lister,_ please do try to not embarrass us so thoroughly.”

“You speak the truth!” a dour looking man with a white beard Interjected. He turned to the host that had greeted them earlier. “It is too quiet in here! Bring on the entertainment.” 

Alexander spoke up as well, hearing his guest's request, “Do us this pleasure!" He boomed with authority, “Pipers and dancers!”

Soon the room was filled with music as women paraded through the middle. Each was scantily clad and danced in high steps as they played double flutes. The partygoers had begun to cheer and laugh, becoming more raucous. 

The chance to ogle the female form turned out to be more of a temptation for Rimmer than his previously desired conversation. His breath caught in his throat as he noticed one of the dancers had her right breast on full display.

“Lister?” Rimmer leaned over. “Which setting did you select, Lister?”

“Just relax, Rim-“

_“Which setting, Lister??”_

With a dopey grin, Lister said, “Revelry.”

Rimmer inhaled an incredulous snort, rolling his eyes with pure disdain. Seeing a lecture coming on, Lister scrambled, “It’s boring Rimmer. C’mon, let’s relax and have a little fun. Fun, Rimmer, have you heard of it? You can still talk to your boy hero here.”

Rimmer groused under his breath. He knew Lister wanting to play this game was too good to be true.

“Here. Drink.” Lister pushed a cup into Rimmer’s hands. “You can touch, you can feel, _you can drink_. Enjoy.”

Despite himself, Rimmer did drink. The more he drank, the less he complained until it seemed he may actually be having a good evening. Tipsy, he had started detailing Risk strategies to Alexander who graciously listened with fascination only an AI could muster. Well impressed, the man clapped a hand on Rimmer’s shoulder with affection. “You remind me of my dear friend, Hephaestion. A fine military leader you are! Tell me, would you take a command in my army as we march East?”

Rimmer flushed with pure pride. “Of course! It would be a privilege, sir."

Overjoyed, Alexander raised his voice, “Let us celebrate! A round of Kottabos!”

As he cried this out the attentive host, ever at the ready, ordered a tall metal target brought in. It was a thin pole with a small plate at the top and a large inverted bowl shape near the middle. Startled, Rimmer leaned over to another of the guests nearby, the dour man. 

“Ah, remind my friend here,” He jerked a thumb at Lister. “What is Kattobus?”

“Kottabos!” The man declared. “A fine game! You flick the wine-lee from your cup into the target. Should it fall and ring out, you win, and it is a very good portent as well.”

“Come, my compatriot!” Alexander nudged Rimmer in the shoulder a little too hard. “Have the first shot.”

Rimmer nervously stammered, “Ah well you see, I would, but I’ve got a bit of the old tennis elbow.” The last thing he wanted to do was miss horribly and have the entire room laugh, especially in front of Lister. He turned to his bunkmate, “Lister? Care to try?”

“Ah yes, let your beloved try.” Alexander smiled pleasantly.

Rimmer went pale at the word, “More of an… an acquaintance really.”

“I’ll give it a go.” Lister chimed in gamely. He looked to the dour man, “Will you show me how?” 

The man, who introduced himself as Erasmos, obligingly showed Lister how to lay on his left arm and flick his wine cup with his right. As Lister began to line up his shot, he was stopped with a wave of the old man’s hands. “Not yet. You must first toast and dedicate your shot to someone.”

Lister raised his cup. “Erm, Rimmer. This is for you!” He grinned, making eye contact with the awkward hologram. “May you actually have some smegging fun tonight.”

With a deft flick of his wrist, Lister’s wine dregs shot out and landed squarely on the target. It tumbled and struck the metal surface, chiming out a bright tone. 

The room erupted with cries of joy and congratulations all around. Rimmer, off-put, wondered to himself silently if the game wasn’t fudging the difficulty intentionally. 

“A prize!” Alexander called, “A prize for the winner. Kisses from the loveliest piper.“

“Oh, eh?” Lister had a surprised but happy look on his gerbilly little face. Rimmer wanted to smack it off. 

A small brunette woman from the band of pipers was bade to approach them, which she did with no shyness. Immediately she sat in Lister’s lap and kissed him. It was the woman with her breast out.

Cheeky, she only then greeted them. “Mr. Lister. Commander Rimmer.”

“Well. I feel like I should know your name, darling?” Lister said, appearing only slightly flustered, putting on a note of charm.

“Xenia. That was a marvellous shot. Your very first try! That will bring very good luck.”

Rimmer was bright red, trying to not look at them. What kind of indecent prize was this? And why hadn’t he gone first?

“Replace the disk, I want to try.” He said testily. 

All in all he took 3 shots, each worse than the last, swearing the entire time as the onlookers watched quietly. 

“Smegging tennis elbow.” He blamed, giving up. His face was hot and he just wanted everyone to stop gawping.

“Oh, I’ve made your lover jealous.” Xenia pouted.

Lister raised his eyebrows, “Who, Rimmer??”

_“Excuse me?”_ Rimmer spat.

“Look at him!” She swung her hand out. “He’s terribly jealous. You had better give him a kiss too.”

“Ah, it’s not like that.” Lister politely corrected.

“Are you not lovers??” She asked, confused. “But you toasted to his love?”

Rimmer groaned, “What?”

“In Kottabos, you toast to the one of your affections. If you win, it means you will succeed.” She winked at Lister. “Fate bodes well for you in matters of love.”

“Oh.” Lister looked apologetically at Rimmer, “He left that part out.” The hologram looked humiliated.

“Will you kiss him?” Xenia asked. 

“Erm, how about you do the honor?” 

The woman leaned over the reclining Rimmer before he knew what was happening, making him jump with a start. She wrapped her arms around his head and planted a kiss softly on his tense lips. A bare breast dragged across his chest. The reaction between his legs was involuntary and inevitable. 

She pulled away slowly, watching his stunned gaze. “More wine, commander?”

The night wore on and Xenia kept them both company. She laughed at Rimmer’s nervous bad jokes and kissed the two with no warning whenever she felt the need. The envy and discomfort of sharing a companion with Lister was muted by generous wine pours. Access to any woman far outshined the downside.

The guests showed no signs of winding down, possibly programmed to go as long as the users cared to stay. They were just starting another game when Xenia grabbed both of their hands and tugged them towards a side entrance.

“Come, I have something to show you.” She said conspiratorially, her words drowned by the noise of flutes and laughter. 

She led them through a hall down into a courtyard. It was lit only dimly by distant lights and a waxing moon, but they could see the fantastic flowers, vines, and bushes that lined the walls. A warm mediterranean wind blew by gently. Idyllic and quiet, it felt refreshing against Rimmer’s skin after the chaos of the party. He paused a moment to breathe. This was the kind of indulgence you didn’t get as an incorporeal stiff.

“I have to hand it to you, Lishty.” Rimmer said, slightly slurred, “This is a fine program.”

“Sit, sit.” Xenia motioned towards a carved bench impatiently. 

“What did you want to show us?” Lister asked, seating himself obediently alongside Rimmer. His aim was a bit off but he righted himself.

“This.” With a smooth motion, Xenia pulled loose her robe, letting it drop noiselessly to the ground.

“That… that is quite nice.” Rimmer gulped.

She dropped to her knees in front of them, her hands traveling up the cool skin of each of their thighs.

“Here??” Rimmer sputtered, his eyes darting from her to Lister. “Together??”

“Why not?” She asked, still teasing their thighs with her palms.

“Steady, man. It’s fine.” Lister said, his eyes closed, head back.

Rimmer’s cheeks burned. Lister there or not, his stiff hard-on was already pushing against his robe. He needed this desperately. “I- I don’t want you to watch me on the job!”

“I won’t watch then!”

Rimmer’s lips moved, pursed, as he considered. He didn’t have a chance to reply though. A warm hand had freed his cock from the confines of the robe and stroked it gently. A loud whimper escaped him as he gave in.

As he glanced over he could see Lister’s tunic pushed up around his hips, bulge straining at the loincloth beneath. Xenia palmed it softly, dipping her fingers along the edges, tugging the cloth free.

Rimmer slammed his eyes shut. Best he pretended Lister wasn’t there.

A thin thumb brushed against the tip of his cock, smearing a drip of precum along the head. Rimmer shivered. The sad fact was he’d never been touched like this. McGruder, both when living and simulated in Better Than Life, had been uncreative in-out-done situations. The slow, careful touches in this program were something else entirely. 

Xenia gave him a long lick along his length, followed by a series of kisses. Each press of her lips sent electricity up his spine. He heard desperate mewls trickle out of his mouth as he squirmed.

Softly, she took him into her mouth, bit by bit, before pulling away teasingly for more breathy kisses. His head swam and he pushed his hips upward, wanting more. At last, she plunged down, engulfing his twitching cock to the hilt. 

The moan it drew forth was surprisingly not his own. Blinking, Rimmer peered over to see Lister, bathed in the dim moonlight, eyes trained to the spot he _specifically_ promised to keep them away from. The bastard.

Caught, the scouser’s eyes flicked up to catch Rimmer’s in a scorching stare. Rimmer’s heart lept a little. Being watched with such intensity was unexpectedly, unspeakably, undeniably hot.

Lister was panting from Xenia stroking him under his tunic, mouth parted slightly, arousal painted in his eyes. Rimmer made a special effort not to look downward, gazing instead at those lips. He thought briefly of chastising his bunkmate but in the end couldn’t be bothered. He licked his lips and squeezed his eyes shut again.

Close. He was too close already. He put a hand on her shoulder intending to have her pause, but the words wouldn’t come out. A long low shudder built in him as his muscles twitched - he had already lost.

A slow gasp ripped from Rimmer’s throat, turning into a keening sound. The piper expertly held her own as he discourteously bucked into her. Holding him steady, she accepted every surge hungrily, cleaning him with a nimble tongue when the trembles had subsided.

Winded, Rimmer leaned back against the cool, stone wall. His breaths came sharp and heavy. Xenia turned her attention to Lister, but she kept a reassuring hand on the hologram, petting his stomach and leg lazily. He didn’t look down, opting to fix his eyes on Lister’s face again. He wouldn’t look down. He refused. That would break some secret rule he couldn’t define. 

Lister was gasping in little starts now and letting out moans with no inhibition. His expression was twisted into one of pure bliss. Furrowed brow. Slack jaw. Watching him worked over and falling apart, Rimmer felt his spent cock stirring again.

This time Lister caught Rimmer staring. Taking a heavy breath, he turned to lock their gazes. Rimmer could swear the other man was leaning closer, eyes ablaze with longing. Rimmer angled closer to match, inching forward, tilting his head slightly.

Lister cried out, the peak of his orgasm crashing down around him. Startled, Rimmer pulled back. The brunette curls were buried deep in the tunic and indecent sounds filled the air as skin touched skin, sliding along saliva. 

The petite woman eased away from Lister, her hand finding Rimmer again. A fresh erection stood at attention and she let out a pleased, "Oh! Again!" Then with an astonished caress she murmured, "You are a beast!"

If Lister was impressed, he didn't let on. Instead he bundled her up into his lap with a kiss.

"Let me help you out while you do that, love." 

He ran his hand across her pale white skin, reaching between her legs. It was her turn to make little noises of pleasure as he slipped two fingers inside. Using his thumb, he slicked the wet upward to play with her clit.

Rimmer watched all of this carefully with fascination. He was mildly disappointed that the next activity wasn't _actual_ sex, but Xenia was arranged just right to put the show on display for him. Being a dunce about women, he'd never properly thought about how to give one pleasure. He mentally made notes. 

Meanwhile, her hand found its way back to his cock, pumping more fervently this time. As Lister stroked, so did she, creating a new rhythm as their three bodies writhed in time with each other.

As Rimmer neared his second delirious orgasm, he intently studied the pair. Lister's skin glimmered with perspiration. His nose was buried between her dainty breasts, eyes closed in blissful concentration. The pose would have made a lovely painting, Rimmer thought. Or a fine greek statue. 

Then they were there: she with a shout and he with a whimper. Rimmer spilled over her hand and his now soiled robes. He rode the waves of sensation with strain, crumbling with the effort as they subsided. 

As they came to a standstill, all of their chests heaved, trying to catch their breaths. 

Rimmer didn't care for sitting in his own mess, but couldn't find the will to move. Lister was kissing Xenia again sweetly before silently encouraging her to kiss Rimmer as well. She did just that, enthusiastically. 

Rimmer didn't particularly know what to do with his hands or what to say, but the attention was intoxicating. "Smeg, you're beautiful." He breathed between kisses. He vaguely thought he could taste Lister on her tongue. 

They lounged like this, the stars hanging above quietly as their pulses slowed. A chill started to creep in and at last Xenia stood to replace her robe. 

"I must return home." She apologized. "I've been out too late. Pass me a drachma and I'll be on my way."

"A drachma? What's that?" Lister asked. 

"Do you joke with me? A silver coin." She seemed impatient. "Don't think a good night is payment enough, bread must be put on my table too."

The men looked at each other incredulously. 

"Yeah, alright..." A rattled Lister said, searching his tunic. Sure enough a coin purse hung on one side and when investigated a shining silver drachma came out. 

Xenia took the coin with a peck on his forehead and bounded off without another word. 

The two men sat in stunned silence. 

Rimmer began to laugh. 

Soon Lister chuckled too. 

Then both convulsed with heavy guffaws. The wine still ran in their veins and they felt warm and merry. 

"A prostitute." Rimmer snickered. 

"We just bought a _prostitute_." Agreed Lister. 

"We just _shared_ a prostitute."

"Shame. I thought she really fancied us."

"She's programmed to fancy us."

"Yeah, I know, just…" Lister trailed off, the last thought lost. 

Rimmer leaned back. As good as that was, it wasn't real. But then again, how much more real is a hologram than a sprite? But Lister was here and Lister was real. Lister's moans and strokes and wondering gazes. All real. If he closed his eyes, he could see them replay before him.

"I had fun, man." Lister said, "Thanks for coming."

Rimmer flushed at the unintended double entendre. The reality of what he'd been doing and with whom hit him. God. Did that count as a threesome? Were threesomes a bit… poofy? Smeg, Lister was looking at him. What was the appropriate response? Certainly not 'Oh no problem Listy, anytime you want to bonk a prostitute together, I'm your man!'

Lister stood up, "I'm going to bed. Completely knackered."

The prospect of walking back to their bunk together suddenly felt terribly unnerving. Would he be instantly sober when disconnecting? How _did_ it work? What the smeg did you say walking down those long corridors after a night like this? 

"Ah… I think I'll stay a moment longer." Rimmer murmured.

“Suit yourself.” Lister shrugged, “G’nite smegger.”

Lister’s avatar blinked out of existence as he disconnected. Rimmer released a breath of relief, relaxing a bit. He slumped over to lay on his back where he could see the night sky. He was drunk, he was filthy, and he was completely alone.


	3. Series 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consent Issues

Day 5. The frigid air was still and crisp, but Rimmer couldn't feel it. He tried to remember what it felt like to be too cold. 

He had never felt a freezing winter morning on Io, tucked away in perfectly temperature regulated domes. The best he could picture was the time he'd been trapped in the walk-in freezer on Red Dwarf. A vent in catering had broken and the access panel was inside with the packed meats neatly arranged on shelves. His light ship-issue jacket wasn't enough to hold back the biting chill.

He was all alone, no idea when or if he’d escape. Hours he was stuck in there before anyone bothered to look for him. Apparently they finally noticed when he failed to fulfill a work order and the Captain's favorite vending machine ran out of Choccy-Nut Bars. However, his suspicion was that his calls for help were maliciously ignored by the catering staff, he just never could prove that properly. That... that was the coldest he'd ever been. 

That was how cold Lister was now, he reminded himself. 

Lister was bundled tightly in a fur-lined anorak, hunched over the meager fire. He hadn't spoken in hours. At first Rimmer had tried to keep them occupied, but he'd run out of things to say and slunk off in his awkwardness. He wasn’t good with this sort of thing. He didn't want to watch Lister die.

“Lister.” He said gingerly. “Isn’t it about time to eat again?” It actually wasn't according to Rimmer's timetable, but certainly a bite of something would raise his spirits. 

A long pause. “Eat what?” The weak reply came.

“There's water biscuit crumbs and a swig of vinegar.”

They fell into silence again. Lister was motionless, watching the crackling flames. 

Finally he muttered, “it's fine, man. I’m just going to sleep.” 

He’d been spending the nights on a bunk mattress out by the fire piled with every blanket, pillow, and bit of cloth they could find. It wasn’t much. Rimmer watched soundlessly as he gathered together this make-shift nest and burrowed into it.

Silence. Unbearable silence. Rimmer began to pace.

“Hey,” Lister’s voice came out cracked. “Rimmer, man. I…”

The hologram sidled a little closer. “Yes?”

The scouser lifted himself up on one arm, pushing back the pile. “Look. It’s absolutely baltic in here. There’s no food. No one knows where we are. If I die -”

“You’re not going to die.” Rimmer interrupted. 

“IF I die,” Lister continued stubbornly. “I just… I wanted to say thank you.”

Rimmer screwed up his nose and sat on the cold metal chair, “For _what?”_

“I was just thinking. We’re not exactly best mates or nothin’, but when I was pregnant with me boys, I don’t know, you were decent, like. Trying to help. It was smegging obnoxious, but you did. Making sure the scutters did a cesarean without killing me. Fussin’ over us when they were born. And, you know, erm, _afterwards._ I was a shambles.” 

Lister, who had been staring at his hand, glanced towards his bunkmate. He had his lips pulled stiffly tight.

Dropping his gaze, Lister jerked his head stiffly. “And helping look for food and stuff to burn and talking to me. Just. Thanks.”

Rimmer’s right leg was jiggling. He couldn’t think of a single time he’d been thanked before, much less this sincerely. He was trying to recall how one reacted to such a thing. 

“Well.” He cleared his throat, ”It’s just good leadership, isn’t it? One of us dead is plenty.”

Lister said nothing, laying down quietly again. As the moment stretched on, Rimmer thought his companion may have drifted off to sleep. Just as he began to get up, a small voice rose from the floor.

“Do you think me boys will remember me? Years from now I mean. I only knew them three days.”

Rimmer shifted uncomfortably. “How should I know?”

“You’re supposed to say ‘yes.’”

“Yes, well… I suppose it’s hard to forget someone who chews off his own toenails and puts onions in his cornflakes.”

Lister laughed a little, then heaved a desolate sigh. “Did you want kids?” 

Rimmer moved down to the floor by the thin mattress, crossing his legs. He was thoughtful for a moment before deciding how to respond. “I always thought I’d like four boys. Like my parents, but do it right this time. Discipline. Respect. Intelligence. Balls of steel.”

“Four little officer Rimmers, eh? What would you name them?”

“Ah, now this I know for certain. Alexander for the eldest, then Julius, Patton, and Leon.”

_“Leon?”_

“Short for Napoleon. Save the best for last.”

"Oh smeg off!" The scouser chuckled and shook his head, “Poor smegger wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Laugh all you want Listy, a name can make a man.”

“Hey…” Lister’s expression changed, training his eyes on Rimmer’s midsection. “Come a little closer.”

Rimmer flushed. “Pardon?”

Lister stuck out his hand, making the hologram flinch. It stopped before breaching his form, palm facing towards his stomach.

“Smeg. I didn’t notice before. Your lightbee gives off heat. Not much but it’s there.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“That’s brilliant, guy!” Lister grinned.

Rimmer jerked back a little. “I see where your mind is going and the answer is no.”

“C’mon. Me fingers are getting frostbite. Meanwhile you got a smegging space heater in your guts.”

“I’m fine without your yellow turmeric fingerprints smudging up my inner workings.”

“Come on. I’m freezing to _literal_ death, Rimmer.”

“No!” He squawked. 

“Ok, ok, I won’t touch it. How about you just kinda sleep next to me, get the covers warmer.”

“Now you want to _spoon?”_

“You’re pure light, you won’t feel anything, it’s not like we’re feeling each other up.”

“Lister-”

“Come on man, please.” Lister’s voice cracked pathetically. Rimmer felt his fortitude leaving him. “I’m freezing to death.”

The hologram pursed his lips together in a petulant frown. “Oh - smeg, alright. _But no grabbing my lightbee._ ”

“Yeah, sound mate.” Lister lifted the covers in a gesture meant to invite Rimmer to slide his lightbee under the duvet. Rimmer scrunched his nose again. He may not be able to feel, but he could smell just fine. The thought of what the slob smelled like after 5 days of no showers and the same clothes made him hesitate even harder. 

“Rimmer.” Lister’s face was stern but pleading.

With an overly dramatic groan, Rimmer commanded the computer to switch him to thick winter sleepwear then crouched down and got on the mattress. He did his best to keep his projection from cutting into the human. The covers fell straight through him as they flopped down, leaving him sticking halfway out. Rimmer hated clipping through objects. It was just another reminder he was less than alive and made him feel totally, totally useless.

He was stiff, unable to relax. Such a snug sleeping arrangement was disconcerting. He could detect the man’s every tiny move, every tiny sound. The rise and fall of his chest. A slow heartbeat. Pained sniffles. The minuscule shivers Lister tried to hold back made the bed quiver. 

Rimmer thought of the freezer. 

“Lister…” The hologram steeled himself reluctantly. “You can hold my lightbee.”

Wordlessly, ten fingers reached out and hesitantly curled around the warm metal. He could tell they were there. They didn’t feel like much, but the pressure pushed his projection out of alignment. To his surprise, it felt nice. Almost like trying to hug through a stack of thick, fluffy duvets. 

The bee was so small, it surely wasn’t doing much to warm him up like this.

Slowly, Rimmer edged backward. His projection clipped through the anorak as he pressed himself into it. An appreciative arm held him tight.

Bit by bit, the hologram allowed his muscles to relax and slumber began to take him at last.

An odd swaying motion jolted him back to alert, as if Starbug were bobbing back and forth. He blinked bleary eyes, not sure at first if he was dreaming. But no, it was there, ever so slightly. His projection was scooting back and forth.

He lay still, trying to think. Was he glitching? The fog of sleep was lifting slowly when he heard a hitched breath from behind him.

He froze, simulated heartbeat running hot and fast. 

Lister was rubbing against him. And not accidentally. 

As he held his breath and concentrated, he could detect the distinct feeling of Lister’s package gliding up and down the warm metal of his only physical presence. Not knowing what to do, he stayed motionless, focusing on the sensation, silently panicking. 

The hologram could feel a blush rushing to his cheeks over the tell-tale twitch in his groin. Save very few and far between experiences, Rimmer was not someone who was touched often, even before death. And certainly not groped. The sheer naughtiness of the gesture was too intense, he never felt anything like it before. He couldn’t control his arousal, much to his shame. It was violating, it was sickening, and he was enjoying it.

Rimmer hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it came out in a desperate gasp. He’d blown his cover. No plausible deniability. He was panting audibly.

It was more brazen now. Lister used his hand to grind the lightbee into his bulge in long, slow strokes. His little groans floated over Rimmer’s ear.

“Rimmer.” He exhaled shakily. His free arm wrapped around the mound of covers clipped through the light form, pulling them close.

A shiver went down Rimmer’s spine as he made a decision. He fumbled with the pyjama bottoms to let loose his erection, squeezing it frantically.

_“Rimmer.”_ Lister openly moaned. The light from the dying fire danced across their bodies as they swayed together. The hologram’s stroking inspired a few forceful thrusts from behind.

Rimmer’s hands moved roughly, in no mood for build-up. Each movement was kept apace so that his hand closed around the head when he was pushed forward. He closed his eyes and imagined Lister’s hand instead of his own. Lister grinding against the soft skin of his backside. Lister’s breath on his neck.

The searing heat built in him rapidly. He couldn’t hold it off. With a clinched jaw, he came hard into his fist. The white ropes fell to the floor, disappearing without a sound as they landed.

Lister curled tighter, dropping his face through Rimmer’s shoulder, just within peripheral vision. Rimmer could see the younger man’s lips, parted and shimmering just above his unsubstantial skin. Experimentally, he tried arching his back, pushing his lightbee against the taut cloth of his bunkmate’s trousers.

The sound of joy this obtained was encouraging. Very encouraging.

They pressed together, converging on the lone remaining tactile connection they had to each other, scrambling fingers tangled in the bedclothes. 

“Rimmer!” Lister cried in a strangled voice. He suddenly stopped, clutching the lightbee, convulsions wracking his body. As they faded, he settled into a slow caress, running himself softly along the length of the rigid metal. When that became too much, he released his grip, dropping back.

The stillness of the room was broken only by the crackle of the meager flames.

With startling movement, Lister fell forward, hugging the cloth within Rimmer tightly. “Thank you.” He whispered.

Rimmer didn’t move, mortified with himself. No one had asked him if he cared to be masturbated against. But he’d crumbled immediately. He was thankful when no more noise came from the scouser either. 

  
He stared at the dancing shadows against the far wall, cast by his burning possessions. Was that spark Tolstoi? Or Dickens? He’d never have gotten around to reading them anyway. He may as well watch Shakespeare die so that Lister may live.

He noticed the smell. Deep and musky. Sweat and grime. Smoke and filth. And sex.

It was a long, restless time before he got up. Unsure of what to do with himself, he paced until he could stand it no longer, then disappeared into the bunkroom.

...

Rimmer, feeling at last somewhat clean, wiped the last of the droplets from Lister’s borrowed face. His skin felt raw from scrubbing with harsh chemicals, but the sting served as reassurance of a job well done. 

Slinging the towel over his neck, he stepped in front of the full length mirror absent-mindedly. At first he had tried his best to avoid any extended eye contact with the body he was inhabiting, but that had proved difficult quickly. It simply wasn’t practical. After the thorough scouring through each of Lister’s filthiest crevices, he was understandably feeling less shy. 

It was in this spirit that he admired his work. All he had needed was a proper washing up to get shipshape. The light brown skin glowed red between the heat and friction of his shower, but it was pristine. 

Rimmer cocked his head and ran his eyes up and down. He’d never made a particularly meticulous examination of his bunkmate before. Not during strip poker or the old days in public showers. Those were strictly eyes-forward situations, thank you very much. Curiosity really had gotten the better of him.

Lister didn’t have much body hair. Rimmer ran short fingers through the sparse strands on his chest. They were curly too in a way he wasn’t used to. His chest and stomach weren’t flat, nor muscular, but not half as squishy as Rimmer had just made them out to be either. Just pleasantly soft. He noted the way the small, dark nipples tilted a bit. If he inhaled deeply he could see the lines of ribs along the side of his chest. It also made his lungs burn from the years of smoking. 

He turned his hips. There they were. The Volkswagens. Tattoo and all. He grimaced. Of course it was just an insult, but what business did he have bringing up bums in conversation? Really wasn’t it better than having a flat, unremarkable bottom anyway?

Then, of course, there was the elephant in the room. How had a man with the Burj Khalifa neatly smuggled between his legs never bragged once? He felt… inadequate looking at it. Anxiety crept into him. Was Lister peeking at his hologramatic naughty bits and having a laugh? The scouser had already had a good gawk before, what had he thought then? And now they had all the time in the world to scrutinize. 

As Rimmer lazily considered the sleeping beast, it stirred slightly. That was only natural.

A pestering itch bothered his toes. Athlete's foot. Foul. Rimmer scowled a little. It surprised him to see the look didn’t sit right on Lister’s face at all. Lister’s brow _never_ wrinkled like that. It was unnerving.

Rimmer had a long two weeks of hedonism ahead of him, so he got to it with the determination to make the most of it. At first he really did plan on working out, just later. Week two. By the third time Lister caught him eating, it was clear that he had different priorities. 

Yet, despite his indulgences, an uneasiness in the back of his mind kept nagging at him. Surely his angry bunkmate had had the urge for a bit of revenge. The impetuous lout would probably try to pull some prank. Rig the lightbee to explode at an awkward moment. Jump off a gangway until it went all wobbly. Perhaps he’d insert a holovirus to make Rimmer slowly expand to walrusian proportions. Any of the prospects were intolerable.

Ultimately, Rimmer decided he had to check for himself. He knew all the passwords to the hologram simulation suite - he had set them. After unfortunate previous goings on. With a few keystrokes he could skim the time since the swap and see once and for all what Lister had been up to.

He was stopped short, however, when he bumped into Lister himself in the corridor.

“And where are you off to?” The scouser eyed him critically with Rimmer’s own gaze. His expression betrayed the fact that he didn’t expect an honest answer.

“The Officer’s Gym,” Rimmer lied smoothly. He rocked back on his heels in what he thought was a convincingly casual way. “It’s cardio day. Have to keep your ticker fit as a flea!”

“Uh huh. Funny, 'cause the gym is that way.” Lister pointed in the direction Rimmer was clearly moving away from.

“I’m taking the _scenic_ route, Listy. Using your legs more. Getting those extra steps in!” 

Lister’s eyes narrowed as they caught a glimpse of something. “Wait - what’d you do to me locks??” He craned his neck as Rimmer shifted to keep the back of his head hidden.

“Calm down. I pinned them up, they were flopping about far too much.”

“You know smeg-all about taking care of natural hair, you know man. Just look at it. What did you use to wash it? Mr. Muscle? Ajax?”

"Ah! So you _have_ heard of the stuff!" Rimmer put on his snottiest smirk. "I was certain cleaning products were a foreign concept to you."

"Rimmer-”

“Ah ah. No time for chit chat, miladdo!" Rimmer chirped. "You'll excuse me, I have to keep _your_ heart rate up!” He jogged enthusiastically, lifting his legs high in exaggeration. Lister frowned with distrust but let him pass unimpeded.

Out of eyesight, the unapologetic liar wheezed from his brief effort and went back to a casual pace. Rimmer was rather proud of that one. With smug satisfaction, he made his way to deck 592.

Safely inside the holosuite, he locked the door and engaged the passcode. 

He plopped into the chair, cracking his knuckles in preparation. "Ok you stubby git, let's see what you've been up to." A little smirk tugged at his lips.

He rewound the records and played them at 5x speed, pausing at anything that seemed interesting. Lister hadn't done much of anything. Unable touch, he hadn't seemed to know what to do with himself. He wandered the corridors for hours, not bothering Holly or the scutters for much of anything. The nutcase even slept in his leather jacket with all the jingly bits. 

Rimmer felt a twinge of guilt but pushed it aside fast. Maybe it was high time the scouser got a taste of Rimmer's miserable half-existence. Maybe it would breed some respect.

He at last encountered something new. Lister had visited the cinema the previous evening. Something completely mushy and preposterously saccharine, Rimmer supposed. Slowing the recording to 1x, he saw Lister’s head hung down, like he might be moping or crying. 

A little snarl of offense crossed Rimmer's lips. Surely it wasn’t _that_ bad being a hologram. Dramatic git. 

Then Lister’s head fell back and he realised what he was looking at.

“My God - you bastard! You horny, vulgar, disrespectful, vile, warped, trolloping blighter!” 

Not only had Lister not resisted the urge to immediately take a peek down Rimmer’s trousers, he had helped himself to a sample as well.

It seemed horribly unfair. Rimmer had restrained himself from such an act, _despite_ the way Lister’s cock often perked up by itself at inopportune times. The damn thing begged for attention, shifting funny when he sat, popping up in the shower mirror, and never failing to salute in the mornings. And he’d resisted.

Rimmer stabbed at the zoom button to get a better view of the hideous depravity. 

His eyelid twitched as he witnessed his obstinate subordinate twisting _his_ hands around _his_ trouser snake. Pumping it in a way he _certainly_ never would. Misusing _his_ entrusted body for disgusting purposes. 

Rimmer noticed how tight his underpants were becoming. The tidy Y-fronts didn't leave much room for the leviathan to rise.

On a hot-headed impulse, he sat back and undid his shining green trousers. If Lister was going to abuse his nethers, there was nothing to stop him from doing the same. A little tit for tat seemed perfectly appropriate to the situation. 

The size of the growing erection made him pause. It felt heavy in his hand compared to what he was used to. He gauged the heft by bobbing it delicately in his palm. There was no need to stroke, he merely watched as it slowly swelled to full attention. Lister's lewd, uncouth body was easy to excite. 

He wondered briefly how any woman could fit such an obscene thing in _any_ orifice. 

The faint outline of two veins ran along the length. Rimmer found himself tracing them with his thumb, one then the other. Curiously, his fingers travel to the foreskin, pushing lightly to see how it moved. Then his exploration rounded the tip of the rosy head slowly. He was only somewhat bitter. 

This is what Lister had ground into his lightbee on a cold night. This is what he clutched frantically in his bunk when he thought Rimmer didn't notice. This is what he pushed into willing computer sprites at every chance. 

Rimmer shifted his weight in the chair. He reached to restart the cinema recording from the beginning. 

The camera angle wasn't the best, but he could see the hand in his lap, pumping busily. He tried switching to POV, but the gimboid had his eyes closed or staring at the grimy ceiling most of the time.

It didn't matter. From overhead he could see the uninhibited expressions of pleasure too.

Rimmer bit the inside of his cheek as he experimented with his first stroke. The shiver it gave him flowed through his entire body like electricity. This body felt different in a way he couldn't pinpoint. 

He began to find a rhythm, mimicking his own body on the vid screen. A second inquisitive hand slithered its way through the course hair at the base of the cock and down to cup taut balls. 

It was strange, Lister in the hologramatic body, wearing his leather jacket and Rimmer’s face. Very few people were in the habit of wanking to their own looks of ecstasy. It was unnerving and captivating all at once. This phantom of his bunkmate had possessed his form and forced his body to do salacious things.

And he was doing the same.

Rimmer brought his attention back to his own borrowed vessel. He hitched the fitted tunic as high as it would go. Again, wide eyes admired the pale brown expanse of the scouser’s stomach, the peaks of his dark nipples, and the subtle way his sternum curved between them.

The rigid cock dribbled a scant few drops of precum which he in turn spread around the head. It would drive Lister spare if he knew what was going on in the holosuite.

“How do you like _that,_ Listy?” Rimmer muttered to himself. 

He stroked faster, squeezing the sensitive tip gently with each pull. His mind wandered to where this thick monster had been. Michelle Fisher. Lise Yates. Kristine Kochanski. How many more? And Lister’s own hand of course. Night after night, these firm hands tugged him into bliss. 

Rimmer had a filthy thought. He was in no mood to deny his whims either. Wetting a finger in his mouth, he wiggled the trousers lower. Reaching down with no hint of shame, he teased at his tight hole, gliding his finger in circles. At each swirl, he applied gentle pressure to the centre. Steadily he pressed harder, moaning quietly, until he slipped inside. 

The hologram in the recording was coming now, hand clutching at the cinema seat fabric, nostrils flaring. The figure whined in rapture.

There was no resisting the urge to thrust into his fist. Rimmer’s muscles tensed with every buck and his finger hit a spot that sent wildfire through his stomach.

With a strangled cry he lost control and twitching spasms wracked his loaned body. He emptied in bursts, hitting the monitors and splashing down on the desk and floor. 

Rimmer’s head spun as he leaned back in the afterglow. Fiery warmth radiated off his skin and it felt like pure euphoria ran in his veins. 

Far too late he realised he should have planned his aim better. He was woefully out of practise at this. In hologram form, he never needed to worry. It just disappeared. Deleted. This, however, was very real and he’d gunked up the whole workstation. There were no cleaning supplies nearby save a few tissues which he carefully rationed, doing the best he could to wipe up. There were a couple things he didn’t miss about being alive after all.

He straightened his emerald outfit and repositioned the cap on his head. Looking sharp, he hastily switched off the displays and left, reengaging the lock. 

Rimmer immediately raided the locker where he knew a stash of dirty mags sat, secreted away by the scutters at his behest. Rifling through the ancient glossies, he took his time to pick exactly the right one. 

_'Chunkers'_ \- No.

_'Mimas MILFs'_ \- No.

_'Nana Festo'_ \- No.

_'Melons'_ \- No. 

_'Big Boys in Boots'_

"How did that get in there??" He grimaced and flung it into a nearby garbage chute. 

_'Muscle Woman'_

Now this one was intriguing. He raked his hand through his hair, skimming the pages.

With a cigar in one hand and degenerate literature in the other, Rimmer stalked down to the Officer's Gym.

Finally, a chance for a wank with real visual stimulation. And without the indignity of asking Holly or a scutter for assistance. 

Next time he would have to find a mirror.

It was going to be a long two weeks. 


	4. Series 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a very brief alcoholism/suicide joke in the first half and rough (but not violent) behavior in the second.
> 
> Some boobies in the first one as well.

“The worst of it is I thought I had finally found someone to share in my interests." Rimmer, arms folded, had been throwing himself a little pity party all afternoon. He was surprisingly still sensitive to being disappointed by his interactions with women, despite his extensive experience in it. "No one on this ship appreciates a rousing game of Risk. I can’t put a Reggie Wilson album on within three decks of Cat without him yowling. And _you,_ squire, have yet to finish my slideshow from the diesel decks.”

Lister leaned back in his chair further, plopping his dirty boots on the grey table. To his fastidious bunkmate’s irritation, a bit of grime tumbled, soiling the immaculately polished surface. “Rimmer, after your slideshow, Kryten had to permanently retire that head. It _melted_ from his humoring protocols going into overdrive."

"Exactly what I'm talking about! What is it about an evening with Rimsy that’s so bad?”

“The whinging for starters.”

“Thanks for that, Lister.” Rimmer pulled his lips to a taut line and glared. Here he was, trying to open up and really have a good, hard, _honest_ bellyache and all he got in return were nasty remarks. 

The scouser took a long moment to compose himself, cleansing the annoyance from his tone. “Look, we’ve got other things, yeah? We have fun. We play poker, we watch films.”

Rimmer’s eyebrows knitted together. “You _cheat_ at poker and make us watch sappy pap. How is it that I have to sit quietly through four hours of 'Gone with the Wind,' yet as soon as it's time for the 'Aircraft of World War Three' documentary you're nowhere to be found?” 

Lister struggled a moment. “Well, what about the locker game. That’s fun, eh?”

“The last time we played you got an antique gold coin collection and I got a value box of heavy-flow, easy-glide applicator tampons with fluid-lock and comfort flex-fit.”

A gerbilly grin. “See? _Fun.”_

The hologram made a face that looked decidedly like he did not agree. “You’re a cheat. I don’t know how, but you are.”

“Rimmer, man. I don’t even want most of that stuff. What the smeg am I gunna do with gold and money out here? It’s useless. You can have it.”

“Oh? What about ‘Baked Bean Bombshells Volume 12’?” Rimmer already knew the answer, he was making a point.

“‘eyyyyyy, no way. Now _that’s_ useful.”

“Oh, so I only get the useless things? Typical.”

“Geez. I think I found an ‘interest we have in common.’” Lister rolled his eyes, standing up.

“I’m only ex-human, aren't I? If you prick me do I not _not_ bleed?”

Lister fished around under his bunk mattress and brought out a vid case. “You can smegging borrow it, man.”

“And what will I do with the filth-encrusted thing exactly? Hmm? Ask a scutter to hold the remote? _‘Rewind, Bob. This is the good bit here.’_ ”

“Oh come off it, you didn’t seem to have a problem with him stocking your smut locker.”

Red rose quickly to Rimmer’s light-generated cheeks and he sputtered. “Preposterous! I have no such thing!”

_“Terrible_ selection too. Hefty Housewives. Bean n’ Baps.”

“Do you think I _like_ asking the scutters to do things for me?” Rimmer fumed. “Do you think it makes me _happy_ that I can’t so much as look at a tasteful adult periodical without begging some indiscreet robot for help?”

“Right. D’you know what you need?” Lister flung the vid on the table and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Let’s get drunk off our arses tonight and I’ll…” He seemed to hesitate, bracing himself with a grimace. “I’ll play Risk with you. But I’m getting legless first.”

“Really?” Rimmer eyed him hopefully.

Lister flashed a weak smile. “Yeah, man.”

“Excellent!” Rimmer smirked with glee, clapping his hands together. “I’ll have Kryten fetch my limited edition 200th anniversary collector's set.”

It took 5 lagers and even more rollies before Lister bravely opened the box. Rimmer had been impatiently nursing a dry white wine and Perrier, reciting anecdotes from past campaigns and badgering his bunkmate to get on with it. The hologram was beside himself delighted to dictate how to set up the board and place the pieces.

“No, no, not China, you gimboid. New China, right there below it.” He swirled his finger over Asia. Lister had trouble following all of the demands accurately with beer already swirling in his head, but he dutifully moved the tiny figurines southward. 

“Hang on.” Lister squinted at the board. “How come they’ve got the ‘Great Britain’ tile in Europe?” 

“Tradition. Europe booted the UK out in the 21st century. ‘Breakfast’ they called it, though I never did find out why. It wasn’t until much later they declared themselves a continent, around the same time Elizabeth The Second popped her clogs in the 2060s. Ireland was not happy, I’ll tell you that much.” 

“Done.” Lister finished placing the final pieces and held aloft a fresh can of Leopard Lager. “One drink if you botch an attack roll. Two for a lost territory. Three for a continent. Lose and it’s bottoms up.” 

_“Ohhhhhhh Listy.”_ Rimmer had his smuggest smirk on. “Careful being so cavalier. Playing against me, you’ll be completely steaming in no time.”

“I’m counting on it.” He took a deep swig.

It surprisingly didn’t take long before Lister’s blue plastic troops were storming their way across the map. He couldn’t remember half the rules, dribbled beer on the Atlantic, and kept toppling the tiny men and cannons with tipsy gestures. Yet, in the end, a six and a four still beats a three and a two, double fives beat a two and a one, a four and a five beats double twos, and a five and a six _always_ wins against a four and a three.

“I don’t understand!” Rimmer wailed, his speech slurring. “You mush be intentionally rolling my dice wrong. How’re you doing it??” He sloshed back another gulp of his offensively pink holographic rosé spritzer. He’d tried to go with something weak to drink, but the sheer number of failures still had him tipsy. The amount of sweet liquid he’d swallowed as well made him feel sick. He had been just able to win enough rounds to prolong the agony.

“I don’t even smeggin’ wanna win, Rimmer, I’m not cheating.” Lister drank as well, despite his victory.

“Holly!” Rimmer growled at the vid screen with inebriated fury, “I want holographic dice, _pronto.”_

The vacant female face appeared behind him. “Your usual ones or unweighted?” 

"What are you blathering on about?" He barked, shifting uneasily. "Unweighted, of course." 

"You got it." She obliged and refilled his drink as well in anticipation.

A two and a one, a three and a one, and a snake-eyes later, Rimmer was looking absolutely tragic. His expression couldn’t have been more bleak if he’d just been fired from his job two weeks from retirement, lost everything in a house fire, and his wife was sleeping with the milkman. He had the demeanor of a career alcoholic who realised today was just as lovely an occasion for suicide as any.

He requested a brandy and sipped miserably. 

“Rimmer, man.” Lister looked at his companion with panicked concern. “You don’t have to drink that. We’re jus’ having fun.”

“Those are _\- hic -_ the rules. The great Rimmer empire fell. Bye bye.”

“Smeg the rules. Hey, look, you’re right. I _was_ cheatin’.”

“I knew it!” The sulky hologram perked up, pointing accusingly. Rimmer latched onto this confession like a lifebelt. He knew perfectly well it was a polite lie, but he had mastered denial. It didn't diminish the satisfaction he took in his ego being saved. “You have to wake up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on Ol’ Iron Balls. And I’ve never seen you awake before noon. How’d you do it? Two sets of dice? Magnets?” 

“You’re too smart for me, guy.” Lister chuckled. “Give us a do-over later, yeah?”

“Well, go on.” Rimmer’s smug sense of superiority had fully returned. “Derrieres up, Lance Armstrong.”

Lister grinned in success and emptied his can in one long pull, beer dripping down his chin. He pulled away with a wet, “Ahhh” and immediately bee-lined to the fridge for another, wobbling. “Feelin’ any better?”

“Mm. I suppose.” Rimmer leaned back. The artificial wine felt warm in his limbs and the room only blurred a bit as his head lolled. He mustered up a blubbery melancholy. “As much as one can in the middle of deep space with no women, no prospects, and, oh yes, whilst dead. Other than that, dandy.”

He watched thoughtfully as his bunkmate quietly returned all the game pieces to the box. 

“Y’know I really fell for it. I really thought she was the perfect woman.”

Lister groaned, shaking his head. “Stop it. Stop banging on about Camille. It’s been ages since she left. I get it. You thought you’d get your leg over with the _one_ woman available in the universe and now you’re stuck tossing off in a ship full of tossers. Join the smeggin’ club.”

Rimmer just snorted derisively. Lister’s eyes landed on ‘Baked Bean Bombshells Volume 12,’ still resting where he’d left it. He snatched it up and slouched over the table with a wiggle in his eyebrow. “I’m going to put this vid on and you’ll forget all about her.”

“And why, pray tell, would I want to watch pornography with you?”

“Hey hey hey, this is a cinematic masterpiece, this.” Lister feigned offense. “I’m just ‘sharing in your interests.’ You said yourself, you can’t watch it without help. What d’ya say?” He had his most obnoxiously bright grin on, ear-to-ear.

Rimmer studied the cheeky little man.

“Eeehhh?” Lister pushed. 

The corner of Rimmer’s lip turned up. 

_“Eeehhh?”_

The hologram pulled a reluctant smile. 

“Aaaahhhh heh heh!” Lister laughed in triumph. “Brutal. You’re gonna love this.”

The cassette fit snugly into the player with a click. Door locked and lights down, Rimmer’s right leg began to bounce viciously. 

“Don’t sit _there._ ” The scouser scolded him, waving a hand at the stiff office chair. “Grab your drink and get _comftble_.” The last word proved too advanced for Lister’s tongue at the moment.

He then helped himself to a backup lager and flopped into the bottom bunk, boots and all.

Rimmer cringed in panic. “Get off of there, you ill-bred oaf! You’ll spill beer all over my sheets!”

“I’m a big boy, Rimsy, I won’t.” He patted the spot next to himself invitingly.

“At least take your boots off. They smell like a rhinoceros with IBS after a vegan chili cook-off.”

“Okay, okay, me boots are off…” Lister tugged at the buckles and launched the revolting things across the room, courteously followed by his putrid socks and leather jacket. “C’mon." He said, "You look like you’re sitting for an exam.” 

Rimmer cautiously crossed the room to find a spot on the bed, taking care to put distance between them. He primly tucked his knees to his chest and sipped the brandy. Lister getting cosy in his bunk was a tad uncomfortable, moreso with himself in it as well. 

“Play!” Lister said with a look of approval.

Rimmer’s eyes locked on the vid screen hungrily in defiance of his misgivings. It had been 3 million years since he’d been able to watch something like this. The voice-activated library was squeaky clean and he’d never actually brought himself to demand assistance with anything else. 

Soon, topless girls were flouncing and flexing in front of them.

Lister had twined his arms around the ladder and rested his chin on one of them lazily. “I’m rooting for the ginger-haired girl.” He said dreamily, as if he hadn’t watched it many times before.

“Her headlock technique is atrocious.” Rimmer countered.

“Seems to work.”

“The blonde, now that’s a real athlete. Look at the way she flipped her over her shoulder.”

“You just like blondes.”

“Maybe. But I recognize skill when I see it.”

“It doesn’t matter, can’t see their hair in a minute anyway.”

He was correct.

Rimmer’s simulated blood put up shop in his cheeks as well as an area much lower. Each time a slippery breast collided with another, limbs grappling in unspeakable ways, a twinge of excitement started in his heart and traveled through his stomach to his thighs. His knees relaxed a little. The women were completely covered in tomato sauce now, beans lodged in their hair and dripping off their shoulders. One threw a handful at the other’s face. 

“This is…” Rimmer wet his dry throat with the brandy. “A bit disgusting.”

“Yeah. Disgusting.” Lister didn’t break eye contact with the screen.

“There, you see, the blonde won. I told you.”

“Sure, but the other one had spirit.”

Another match started with bustier girls. Out of the corner of his vision, Rimmer could see his bunkmate’s eyes flitting between him and the screen. He tasted the simulated brandy, face burning. What was the git looking at?

Lister upended his lager. With casual poise, eyes forward, he said, “D’you want to… I mean I don’t mind if you…”

“...What?”

He shrugged. “Get your jollies.” 

Rimmer didn’t respond for a long time, examining the question incredulously. “Toss off together?”

“‘s not the first time.” Lister traded his empty can for the full one. “We’re men, we have needs.”

The acknowledgement of their previous encounters shot boiling embarrassment through the hologram. Not a single one had been followed by so much as a mention before.

“If you don’t want to-” Lister started.

“I saw you.”

“What?”

Rimmer tensed. “In the cinema. In my body.” With the moratorium broken, the words flooded out of him. 

“Oh.” Lister said quietly. “Sorry. I reckoned you were doing the same.”

“I did.” Rimmer's heart was pounding through his chest. He polished off the brandy just to have something to do with his mouth. There was something that he’d been wondering since that day and the alcohol inspired him nicely. “What was it like?”

Lister untangled himself from the ladder and slumped against the wall. He stared nowhere in particular. “Different.” He concluded. “You?”

“Different.” Rimmer agreed. 

Lister finally allowed his head to turn fully toward his companion, brown irises making piercing contact with hazel. “Show me?”

“Beg pardon?” The hologram’s voice was low and cracked.

“Show me how you did it.”

Neither moved, their gaze fixed. Rimmer examined the dark, friendly eyes for any sign of a cruel joke and found them lit with anticipation. The round gerbil cheeks, covered in a day’s stubble, framed two soft lips set flat and somber. A burning fire rose in Rimmer’s throat. He set aside his glass carefully and lifted the hem of his grey pyjama top. 

In a sudden, frantic flurry they both tugged at their clothes. Rimmer slipped the loose fabric from his waist easily, discarding the bottoms and leaving his dressing gown open. Lister’s tight trousers stayed on as he drew his excited hard-on from their confines. The tip already glistened with precum. Neither paid any attention to the nude wrestlers.

Rimmer licked his dry lips and tried to remember what he had done in the holosuite. Gripping his growing erection, he pictured the long cock in his hand. The weight of it, the way the skin had moved along his fingers. With slow, deliberate motions, he tried to recreate the way his palm had slid along the flesh.

His breath hitched in his throat as he watched his bunkmate mirror the movement. There it was again, the glorious beast Lister kept selfishly to himself. 

“Is this how you… Is this how you touched me?” The scouser whispered hoarsely. The flicker of the vid screen illuminated his expression of longing, bathing him in a warm, orange glow. 

Rimmer nodded once.

He realised he could do just as he pleased and Lister would follow. He could have him do whatever he wanted. The power felt almost as it did when he first held the enormous thing alone in the projection suite. Experimentally, he let his hand glide down to the base of his cock and grasped it firmly. Lister faithfully imitated the same, his remarkable length twitching in the cool air. Rimmer moved upward, brushing softly over the foreskin, tugging it gently over the sensitive head in small strokes. Every gesture reflected from his hand to his bunkmate’s. A little moan fought its way out of his mouth at the sight - heavy, helpless, and yearning. 

Together, the two men picked up their pace in long, languid caresses. Lister was beautiful as he panted, lips parted, brow tense, his locks messily strewn across his shoulders. His cock bobbed with each motion, stiff and sublime.

Rimmer drank him in greedily. He wanted to drag this obnoxious gimboid, this unapologetic cheater into his lap, to clutch and rub and lick everything within reach. He wanted to be the one making his breath quicken and back arch. He wanted to sink his fingers into the dark curls and pull the dreads taut until the smaller man gasped in unbridled pleasure. Instead, he pressed his hips into his own fist and imagined it was Lister's fingers curled around him.

Rimmer was dangerously close already. He stilled himself, trying to let the sensation subside. When his bunkmate also came to a halt, he shook his head briskly. "Don't stop." He choked out.

Biting his lip, Lister obeyed, continuing to rub just as the hologram had shown him. Vaguely they could hear the sounds of women squealing and arguing and the slippery slap of tomato sauce. It faded behind the pounding of their own heartbeats in their ears. 

Rimmer ran the heel of his palm along his thigh, each simulated nerve ending on fire. Resisting the urge for release was a challenge. Not trusting his hand back on his cock yet, he rubbed a thumb along the tight skin of his balls, squeezing gingerly. They hugged his body tight, ready to give in as soon as he allowed. Gradually, his wandering fingers brushed past the delicate skin underneath to press against his hole.

Lister observed each of these actions with rapt attention, never letting up his rhythmic stroking. Rimmer noted he seemed particularly stirred by the revelation that his bunkmate was about to penetrate himself. Encouraged, the hologram wet his fingers with his tongue and explored himself deeper. 

Little desperate hums began to build in the human's throat as he took it all in. His thrusts increased in speed and he squirmed with the effort of controlling the intensity of his building climax. Rimmer could see him nearing and returned to his own heated erection with renewed gusto. It only took a few well placed pumps before he was doubling over, spilling his hologramatic seed across the bed. 

Lister moaned openly, enjoying every moment. His strokes slowed, seeming almost pained. With straining effort, he at last wrung a spectacular orgasm from his body, shuddering and groaning. Splashes of the sticky fluid landed across his T-shirt and the tidy, starched, white sheets. 

The vid had already ended and the menu screen animation looped again and again. Cheap, royalty-free music and girlish giggles.

"Smeg, I'm sorry, man." Lister wiped his slimy hand across his chest and tucked himself away hastily. "S'all over your bunk." He stood and promptly stumbled and fell, the last couple lagers having caught up to him. 

Rimmer cringed with immediate, visceral regret. Exhausted, he sagged backwards into the wall and tried to process what he'd done. Meanwhile, Lister was drunkenly attempting to remove the bed covers for a wash. The hologram didn't hear the apologies or promises to clean up, too busy stuck in his own mind. Underneath him the sheets slid away with no effort, his intangible form being no hindrance. 

The giddy drunkard bundled up the sheets in a way that could be described as ineffectual at best. A trailing end tripped him and he went tumbling to the floor in a slobby pile. This was apparently uproariously funny because he proceeded to giggle uncontrollably. Rimmer ventured a peek down to see the state of him. 

"Maybe…" Lister slurred, "Maybe I oughta stay here. Fer now." Likely for the best, he did. 

The hologram collapsed in defeat the wrong way around on the bare mattress. It felt the same as the sheet. Like nothing. Not scratchy, not soft, not warm, nor wet. It smelled though, of linen and semen and Lister. The idiotic noise from the Baked Bean Bombshells rang in his ears. He couldn't quite focus his eyes so he just let the room spin until he passed out as well.

In the morning, Rimmer found Holly had already graciously reset his pyjamas and shut off the vid screen. Lister lay snug on the ground, thumb in mouth, presumably still hours from waking. Too ashamed to request his emerald uniform, Rimmer left the bunkroom in hope of finding something busying to do elsewhere. 

...

"Skipper, anywhere around here where a man can get a stiff drink?"

Ace was tired. Tired and in pain, but he had no intention of showing it. Instinctively he smiled and quipped and flattered, ignoring the screaming ache in his arm. No sense in worrying the crew needlessly or putting a dent in their triumphant mood. After all, this pickle _was_ his fault.

The long surgery on Cat’s leg was more difficult than he’d let on. Going one-handed left him mentally and physically drained. A sneaked analgesic helped, but it was beginning to wear off. He knew he needed to set his arm soon, the radius had multiple fractures and he could feel each of them biting at his nerves. It could wait a little longer though. Right now what he wanted more than anything was a single malt pushing its 20s and a cheroot. That would steady his senses and breathe new life into his soul. Sufficiently reinvigorated, he’d use his second wind to sort the rest.

Skipper gladly led Ace to the Officer’s Club where the finer drinks were to be found in the mahogany cabinet with the jimmied lock. He struck Ace as a man who could hold his liquor, a real salt-of-the-earth type. A man you could rely on in a pinch and enjoy the evening with as well. He had all the spunk and smarts of Spanners plus a certain grit and tenacity that most likely came from hard living in deep space.

Skipper made a careful choice between the dark amber bottles and measured two generous pours in glencairn glasses, earning a raised eyebrow of impressed approval. 

So, he knew his whiskey as well.

“Is this your regular haunt, old chum?” Ace asked as he took the offered drink. “Doesn’t seem your speed, all the snootery.”

“Nah. Usually more of a six-pack in me bunk type bloke, me.” The scouser glanced up. “But I appreciate a good whiskey.”

Ace flipped the hair from his eyes and smiled. “I can appreciate a bloke like that.”

He swirled the glass lightly, taking in the nose. The smell lit up his senses. He could feel relief washing over him already. 

“Salud.” He offered before taking his first sip. Skipper raised his glass with a nod in return. 

Warmth burned down the daring test pilot's throat with notes of honey and leather lingering on the end. It spread out through his body and settled comfortably in his chest like a roaring fire on a cold night. Ace savored the experience slowly.

Skipper was less delicate. His glass emptied upon the first hearty swig and he was pouring another. With a twinkle in his eyes, Ace decided he had better catch up and swallowed his with similar enthusiasm. The more he saw of this man, the more he took a liking to him.

It hadn’t _not_ occurred to him that he might take Dave to bed. His keen eye and powerful libido kept a constant tab on potential liaisons wherever he went. There had just been no time for such thoughts between being brave, heroic, and all-around charming. Besides, he was a man of honor before all else, and he wasn’t yet certain which sides of Skip’s bread got the butter in the mornings. Best to feel it out.

“Bowmore, 2161.” Skipper chuckled, examining the dusty bottle. “Three million years. Doesn’t get much more vintage than that.” He gestured it towards the glencairn and Ace accepted a refill.

“Never had anything like it.” He agreed, relaxing against the bartop. “Suits me. A damn fine selection.” He slid two thick cheroots out of the shining case in his pocket. “Try one of these, old love. Think you could use it after the day you’ve had.”

“Oh, ey, Cheers, mate.” Skipper chirped, obviously overjoyed for a smoke.

Ace intentionally held the cigar so that the shorter man had to lean over the counter towards him. He caught a split-second bashful glance as the scouser plucked it from his fingers. _There_ it was. 

Ace quietly fixed his attention on the deep brown eyes, scanning them for meaning. He half expected to see discomfort at his brazen stare, but instead he had stirred up a subdued smile.

Satisfied, he slipped his cigar through his lips, taking care to seat the tip deliberately so his new companion could see. Only then did he offer a light, holding his lucky zippo out, flame lit. This time, he kept it a little further away from Skipper, forcing him to rest his elbows on the bartop and come closer.

Which the scouser did with a grin.

Ace playfully returned the look in his own, debonair way.

“It must get awful lonely out here, just the five of you.” He said, speaking through the smoke as he casually lit his own cheroot.

“If we’re lucky.” Skipper puffed with a sigh. He slouched against the cabinet and rubbed his forehead with well-earned fatigue. “Considering most anyone new we meet wants us dead. Present company excepted.” He sipped the whiskey, evidently wishing this glass to last longer.

"Hmm, heartbreaker like you, it's a downright shame to let all that charm go to waste." Ace lifted his brow meaningfully. 

"No other humans." Skipper shrugged, "Until today."

Ace took a particularly deep pull on his cigar, lazily enjoying the feeling of smoke gliding out his mouth. It gave him just enough time to think of the perfect coy response. 

"Chin up, old fruit. Optimism. One of these days you're going to blink and out of the great black yonder will jet a gorgeous bit of womanly wiles ready to be swept off her feet." 

"...Or perhaps a handsome interdimensional pilot?"

A flirty smirk quirked at the corner of Skipper's lips. Good. Ace liked forward.

"You old dog." Ace flipped his hair back and set the cigar on an ashtray. "In need of some sweeping?"

The cheeky scouser was all grin. Damn him, he had the kind of boyish good looks that drove Ace wild. The spitting image of Spanners without the stuffy maturity in the way. Rough and tumble, ride or die, a risk taker, a helper, and a fighter like himself. Ace's pulse quickened with hungry lust.

Skipper approached calmly, not too eager. He blew a soft cloud of smoke past Ace's face and stubbed the cheroot out. 

"Dunno, darlin'." Leaning in close he whispered, "Try it and see." 

Ace reached to caress Skipper's jawline. His fingers ran along the slight stubble to tilt his chin upward. Greedy hazel eyes studied the full lips thoroughly before he claimed the tease's mouth with a fiery kiss. 

They tangled into each other, Skipper with his arms slung around Ace's sturdy neck. Their tongues slid in a deep, desperate dance. Neither had brushed nor showered but the heady musk only fueled their desires. It was the scent of hard work, good smoke, and most of all, man. Every bit was intoxicating.

The dashing hero put his good arm to use, sneaking a hand under the scouser's shirt to make contact with the soft skin underneath. Tightening his grip on the leather belt, he yanked their bodies together. Skipper responded in turn by tugging the flight jacket back and grinding forward. The pilot growled in pleasure. 

He loved men. Especially the rough kind. The way they almost fought you. Raw, impatient, animal. They were an occasional treat for him, an indulgent change of pace between the scores of women. It couldn't be just anyone. He would carefully select his partners, watching for that fire in their eyes. That carnal instinct that he knew would sate his appetite. 

Ace winced in pain as the polo neck wrenched away, catching himself just a moment too late. Damn sissy. 

"Your arm." Skipper looked concerned, the fire fading. "You're hurt."

"Just a touch sore, old sausage. Nothing to fret about." Ace drew him back in with reassuring confidence. 

"You're sure…?" 

In reply, Ace handily lifted Skipper in a vice grip, pushing him onto the table behind them. A flowery centerpiece and several bits of cutlery clattered to the floor, eliciting a happy chuckle from the scouser. Their lips connected again, devouring one another as they scrambled to push and pull the layers of clothing off. A hint of the rich, oaky spirit curled between their tongues.

Ace was pleasantly astonished at what he found when he pressed his hand to the front of Skipper’s boxers. No wonder his scrappy lover had so much chutzpah with that confidence booster swinging downstairs. All the better.

A rub down the length through the fabric and Skipper was moaning.

Ace was a giver. He liked to make his partners squirm and scream, and he liked to make it last. It wasn’t just etiquette, though of course he observed that too. It was legitimately thrilling. The faces and noises they made at the heights of bliss. He relished it.

With a nibble to Skipper’s lip, he released their kiss and moved downward. Every point received ravenous attention in turn as he traveled. The heated, wet mouth rolled over Skipper’s jaw, slid down his neck, and nestled in his collarbone. It tasted the salty skin of his shoulders and captured each raised nipple with teeth and tongue. 

All the while, Ace’s lingering hand caressed the expanding bulge.

As the dashing hero painstakingly made his way south, Skipper did his best to not writhe. He sunk his nails into the flushed, bare flesh of Ace’s back, arching into each fluttering touch with desperation. An impelling, _“Smeg.”_ floated out of his lips. 

The impassioned scratches sent shockwaves of excitement down Ace’s spine. With hurried determination, he broke their embrace to strip Skipper of his heavy boots and trousers. Hooking his thumb in the elastic band, he lifted the red boxers, forcing the fabric gently into the twitching erection before pulling down to release it from its cloth prison. Skipper hissed and shivered under him.

A curious little tattoo sat on the now-exposed inner thigh. A souvenir of a past lover, no doubt. Long dead. Moved, Ace pet it with his forefinger. But he didn’t have time for that kind of distraction.

Dropping to his knees, Ace hauled Skipper’s hips to the edge of the table. The spicy cologne of pheromones filled his senses. He nudged, nuzzling, licking, and kissing, each movement more urgent than the last, before sliding the magnificent hard-on past his lips. The heavy moan this seized permeated the room. God, what a lovely sound.

Ace bobbed, allowing the shuddering man to catch his bearings, but not for long. Steadily he slipped the cock deeper, past his gag reflex, letting the wonderful sensation of fullness crowd his mouth and throat. Skipper squirmed wildly, clamping his thighs tight around the long, tousled hair.

“Smeg, _yes._ How d'you do that??”

Ace snarled his appreciation as he slid up and down, raking his fingers along the soft, round arse. Well endowed men often welcomed this trick of his, and he was more than happy to give it. For him, it was like worshipping at an altar of the male form: ecstatic, intense, unworldly. A pleasure he possessed the talent to share.

With a gasp for air, Ace let go, replacing his lips with a stroking hand. Skipper's face was exquisite. A sense of disbelief and rapture etched itself in his features, flushed, panting, strained. Positively edible.

Having caught his breath, Ace returned to assist his hand with a fast, steady suck. He fell into a rhythm as Skipper's fingers found their way into his hair, tangling and gripping and pushing. The scouser bucked into him with red-hot impatience, heels digging into his back. For his part, Ace took the rough treatment with gusto, letting the assault feed his desire. 

As they built toward something bigger, the bucking growing more intense, Ace picked his moment and withdrew. Skipper groaned at the missing heat.

"Easy there, old bean." Ace said, lovingly. "Don't want to blast off before they count down from ten."

Skipper agreed with a shaky sigh.

Ace rose from his knees and slotted himself neatly against Skipper's groin, tipping the smaller man backward. His restrained erection ground from behind his trousers into the tender flesh. Skipper’s strong, warm fingers danced their way along his stomach, inspecting firm muscles beneath the silky skin. Ace bent to plant another heavy kiss, trapping the saliva-slick cock between their bellies. Scrambling hands pulled him closer, harder until they reluctantly had to separate, breathless.

"Now." Ace rumbled, their noses touching, "What's on the menu, Dave?"

"Listen, love. If you don't quit teasing and shag me senseless right now, I might go mad."

Ace had his marching orders, and he intended to fulfill them dutifully. Meanwhile, Skipper was already busy undoing the gleaming trousers and attempting to shove them towards the floor.

Always prepared, the promiscuous pilot snatched a condom from his back pocket as he kicked off the remains of his flight suit. He ripped it open with his teeth to spare his left arm and rolled it deftly into place. Skipper watched this with anticipation, biting his lower lip, and reached out to fondle the rubber-clad shaft.

Ace surveyed his choices. This wasn't how he wanted him, no. He had something else in mind. 

With gentle yet insistent force, he tugged his lover to his feet and flipped him around. Perspiration dampened the edges of Skipper’s hairline ever so slightly. Sweeping the locks aside, Ace whisked his tongue up the nape of his neck. He tucked his chin on the scouser’s shoulder to murmur in his ear. "Like this?"

"God, yes."

Ace'd had his eyes on the olive oil cruet since they'd walked in, calculated as he was. He suspected Skipper, always clever and scrappy, had as well. He collected it off the table and emptied the bottle generously along his hard length, running two fingers through the glossy liquid. 

The scouser pushed back with a throaty moan as slippery digits slid down his arse and sneaked up against his tight hole. One pressed inside, skillfully curling to seek out that beautiful little spot that would make him cry out perfectly, deliciously. 

Ace almost stopped to chuckle at the vindaloo heart tattoo staring up at him. Almost. 

"Just _do_ it, man." Skipper growled through clenched teeth. 

How could he deny such a request when it came so earnestly from the object of his desire?

Ace positioned himself to enter. When there was no resistance, just a shameless sound of immeasurable satisfaction, he made the call to thrust, burying himself to the hilt. 

For someone else, he would have gone slower, gentler. Built up speed over time or fucked into them lazily for an hour, letting their pleasure mount until the tipping point. But everything in Skipper's voice and body was screaming for faster and harder, _now,_ and Ace was nothing if not a gentleman.

Before his manners got away from him, Ace placed a considerate palm on the stiff cock below, caressing it affectionately. He drove himself in with long strokes, crashing against the soft, reddened cheeks with a smack. Skipper met each one with an insistent arch of his back for more. Swiftly, Ace discovered the angle that had his lover shaking in ecstasy.

Ace was a connoisseur of sex. Each time was like savoring a new, decadent meal. He delighted in all different types of partners. One may be a five-star gourmet experience, luxurious with five courses. Another, home-cooked comfort food, warm and cosy. But it had been a while since he had a feast like this. Messy, fast, needy. A dodgy midnight kebab with the lads.

The two men rose and fell, crashing against each other. They used every leftover bit of stress and adrenaline to bring their bodies together, rushed, wanting. The table clinked and scraped the nice hardwood floor.

Ace’s calves ached from the long day’s exhaustion, but Skipper’s arse was round and full, and the way he moaned his name was rejuvenating. His exertions were well worth it when he felt the man at last tighten around him, shuddering and cursing as a massive orgasm ripped its way through.

Ace allowed himself to edge closer to the brink he’d been masterfully avoiding, his good hand squeezing the quivering hip until it left an angry red mark. In good form, his climax was respectfully prompt. Expert. Commanded. All-around magnificent. Pressing his weight into Skipper’s back, he finished, surrendering to the sweet waves of tremors that vibrated them both.

Ace slid back, letting Skipper up. Still short-winded, the smaller man immediately pivoted into a grateful kiss. Their lips moved against each other, sultry and slow, stretching the moment endlessly as their pulses gradually returned to normal.

Skipper broke the connection first, hands resting on either cheek of his gallant space adventuring hero with unconcealed adoration.

And then he let go.

“Done in." He purred, looking spent and ravaged. He pushed past and flopped on the adjacent leather couch, a content, sloppy grin on his face. "Smeggin’ hell."

Ace glanced fondly at the nude figure, the tension of their perilous flight and harrowing feats having completely melted away. Under the bar, he spotted crisp, red cloth napkins with small JMC logos embroidered in the corner.

"Here, Skip. Don't imagine the brass will mind." He tossed several cordially towards the knackered man before tidying himself. 

Skipper nodded thankfully. "I'm going to be feeling that one tomorrow, y'know. You’re a worse ring stinger than a second serving of quadruple strength dragon’s breath lamb vindaloo.”

Tasteless as it was, this got a hearty laugh. "You're a tiger, Dave." Ace collected two fresh cheroots from where they had tumbled from the flight jacket. "Thanks for a hell of a romp."

Skipper smiled and scoffed. _“Me?”_

Ace placed both cigars in his mouth and lit the tips. After they smoldered to life, he passed one wordlessly towards an already outstretched hand. Their fingertips brushed together at the exchange.

Resting his sore back against the bar, he studied tonight's partner, his one-day-only lover. A pleasant, warm silence filled the air along with the smoke.

“You called me Spanners earlier." Skipper piped up. "You got a Dave Lister back home?”

“That’s right, old shoe. A fine man too. A lot like you. Not quite as devilishly handsome, though.”

“Why ‘Spanners’? He a mechanic?”

Ace took a thoughtful puff and spoke around the exhale. “Mmm. Far more than that. He’s the best damn flight engineer the Space Corps has ever seen. Got a knack for it. That ingenious dimension jumping crate? That spot of genius was him.”

“No kidding?” Skipper took a beat to mull this over. “Did you and him ever...”

“No, no. His rocketship already booked a landing pad. Spoken for. Family man. I’m no homewrecker, Davy Boy, I like to keep my affairs on the up and up. Spanners likewise, an upstanding fellow.”

This seemed to catch Skipper’s attention. He propped himself up. “Married? To who? Kids?”

“Oh, a ravishing number with twice the looks and three times the brains. Utterly devoted to her. Kristine Kochanski. Two twin scamps as well, cute as a button, real spitfires."

"Jim and Bexley??"

"Spot on, old stick."

"I've got a Jim and Bexley..." He trailed off before catching his apparent gaffe with embarrassment. He cleared his throat. "Long story." 

Ace was never one to pry. He good-naturedly let the subject drop.

"What about you and your Arnie? He seemed… jealous perhaps? No romance in the air?"

_"You what?_ Rimmer? That’s a laugh, that is." Skipper took a long amused pull on the cheroot and ashed it. "A laugh.” He repeated. “Don't get me wrong, guy. He's part of the posse, I care about him. Thing is, he's just _such_ a cowardly, heartless, maladjusted, resentful, arrogant, _weaselly_ slimeball. The man has no redeeming value. Except maybe his arse."

Ace couldn't help but smirk. "What, this one here?" He cheekily turned his bare buttocks towards the scouser. 

"Thaaaat's the one!" Skipper grinned and gave it a good smack.

"You're a better man than me, old chap, with a lot more patience." Ace said diplomatically, returning to a sincere expression.

Skipper regarded this with a sad smile. "I'm going to find Krissie one day." He continued, sinking back into the cushions. "That's me plan. Okay, so I know she doesn't, like, _exactly, technically_ exist anymore. But there's ways 'round that. Holograms, other dimensions, wibbly-wobbly timey things, I dunno. But she's the one. I know it. It's destiny." 

Ace could hear the longing crackling in his voice. He placed a sympathetic hand on Skipper's shoulder. 

"You've got a fire in your belly, old banana. You'll find a way."

Skipper peered up into the magnanimous hazel eyes and Ace saw fears and doubts leave him. He had that effect on people. It felt good to work his magic. 

Cheerfully, they finished off another round of Bowmore 2161 together before collecting their scattered clothes to dress.

Ace tugged his furry jacket lapel snug against his neck. "Hate to do the terribly rude thing and excuse myself, old son, but I promised Kryters a piano lesson in five."

"Ey, better get to it." Skipper said, kindly. 

Ace reached to knot his fist in Skipper's shirt collar, pulling him in roughly for a short but steamy kiss. He followed this with a solid clap on the back.

"I'll find you later." He promised, ever genteel. With that, he turned and strode to the corridor. 

"Hey, Ace?"

He stopped just short, looking back to see what Skipper needed. The scouser was grinning mischievously again.

"Did you _seriously_ fuck me with your arm broken?"

The brave commander returned the grin, tossing hair from his eyes with a certain majestic flair and merely shrugged before he passed through the doorway.

Skipper poured himself another glass. As he lifted it to his lips, he muttered to himself in amazement. 

_"What a guy."_


	5. Series 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW mind control

**Day 3.**

The door slid open with a soft swoosh. 

“C’mon smegger, you’ve done your time.”

Rimmer's startled head lifted from where he'd been mentally replaying past Risk campaigns on the bunk in silence.

"You're letting me out already?" He looked terribly confused for a moment before leaping up urgently. "No - not going to question it, get me the hell out of here."

Lister sauntered into quarantine room 152, blocking the entryway and clearly pleased with himself at the state of Rimmer. "So, I'm not quite as big an arsehole as you. Thank me later."

"Fine, good. Let’s go. _Après vous."_ Rimmer glanced at the gloriously open doorway, anxious to exit the prison that held him. He considered walking through Lister.

Being dead as he was, he hadn't had the hands to knit or start a vid, didn't have the distraction of food or a shower. Holly didn't even have a presence on this deck for him to beg to take pity on him, if the daft computer ever would have. Which she wouldn't. Made of pure light, his options were limited to sitting quietly, ranting, and sleeping. All of which he did in copious amounts.

Luckily, there had been a few breaks in the tedium where one or another of the crew came to taunt him. It was the highlight of his days to hurl insults at the goits in gingham. It was something to do. They’d become bored quickly though and the visits dwindled, leaving him more and more to stew in his own thoughts.

"Keep your knickers on. Gotta get the medi-bed back to the science room too." Lister grabbed onto the gurney Rimmer had been rolled in on, aiming it towards the corridor. 

The hologram snorted. He waved the scouser off, determined to leave as fast as possible. There was no need for him to hang back and wait when sweet freedom sat right in front of him. However, before he could make his hasty escape, the airtight door slid shut with a clank right in front of his nose. 

"What _is_ this??" Rimmer shrank back in disbelief. “Some cruel prank? My usual level of suffering isn’t enough for you?” He reached out experimentally and was met with the hard static of hologramatic shielding in the material. It sizzled on his fingertips.

Lister hurried back to the entrance, his eyes wide in concern.

"Kryten, is that you?" He directed at the dark viewing room. A silent pause was all that answered him. "Cat?" More nothing. "Holly?? Anyone??" He quickly typed a number into the keypad and blanched when nothing happened.

“Some unfortunate news, sirs.” The glass lit up to reveal both the mechanoid and feline looking in on them.

“That’s not exactly reassuring, Krytes.” The scouser said cautiously.

Rimmer stormed toward the window. “Stop stalling, you over-glorified _mop,_ and let me out!” 

A small, high-pitched whine sneaked out of Kryten’s vocal unit.

Cat pulled his most guilty grin, the one he reserved for when he was in huge trouble. “No can do, buds.”

With resignation, Lister broke the question. “Well, go on. What happened?”

“Ah, two key facts to understand first, sir.” Kryten said, recapturing his composure somewhat. “One: The ‘quarantine’ on/off switch is installed _directly_ next to all the other switches and they _do_ all look identical. Two: After three million years the labels are a wee bit _smudgy_ and the word ‘auto’ appears to have rubbed off.”

“Auto?”

The squeaky whine reemerged. “Auto- _quarantine,_ sir.”

“Auto-quarantine.” Rimmer parroted. 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Lister was shaking his head trying to understand. “So what does that mean? Can’t you just turn it back off?”

_“Ooooohhh I’m sooo soooorry, sirs!”_ Kryten blubbered, his rubber face contorting like a badly crumpled paper cup.

“Kryten, calm down, it’s okay. Tell us what auto-quarantine is?”

“Once auto-quarantine has been activated, it resets everything and the suite goes on what is essentially auto-pilot. Nothing gets in or out for the - OH it’s so horrible - _full duration of the quarantine period.”_ Kryten’s thick hands were twitching aimlessly in panic.

Lister smiled, seeming to relax a little. “It’s okay Kryten! Just inject Cat with more of the luck virus. He can punch in the code and break us out, same as last time.”

“But you don’t understand, sir! Passcodes don’t work during auto-quarantine. It can’t be stopped until the quarantine period has elapsed.”

Rimmer barked with hot impatience, “So pump the mangy feline so full of luck he finds another way in!”

Kryten and Cat were nervously silent. They gave each other apprehensive side-eyed looks.

“You… don’t have the virus?” Rimmer guessed, hoping to hell he was wrong.

“It’s in the quarantine corridor behind the newly locked outer door.” Kryten peeped, chin pressed into his neck.

“Why the _smeg_ is it there??” Lister’s look of calm had evaporated. “Cat, didn’t I tell you to bring all the vials out with us?”

Cat shrugged carelessly. His right arm was in a shiny new gold sling, perfectly accessorizing his ensemble. "Well I was gunna. But it was heavy. Then I realised, if I set it down, I wouldn't have to!" He smiled a toothy smile at his own perfect logic.

“Four vials were heavy?” Lister glared.

“Well, what did you expect?” Cat looked offended. “ _Telling a cat to do stuff._ This is _your_ fault, monkey, not mine.”

Rimmer, arms crossed, snarled. “How long are we stuck in this God-forsaken hell hole?”

The piercing wail started again.

_“How long, Kryten?”_

In a high squeak, the mechanoid answered, _“Standard Space Corps quarantine according to directive 595. Three months.”_

**Day 8.**

There was no new entertainment to be had. They hadn’t planned on this. The room was stocked just as Rimmer had left it almost a fortnight ago. A chess set with 31 missing pieces, a knitting magazine with a pull-out special on crocheted hats, a puzzle magazine with all the crosswords completed, and a video of the excellent cinematic treat, ‘Wall-papering, Painting, and Stippling -- a DIY guide.’ Kryten was kind enough to drop by now and then to chat, read out loud, or attempt a board game from behind the glass wall, but it was clunky and frustrating. Morning, noon, and night, Lister choked down as many sprouts as he could handle without gagging. 

“You wanted to turn me off.” Rimmer groused. “What if I just decided _you_ didn’t get to exist for half the day, hmmm? And I think we all very well know you’d start ‘forgetting’ to switch me back on just as soon as you pleased.”

“We woulda worked something out. She was a person too you know.”

“So are the thousand-plus people in Red Dwarf’s hologramatic manifest! Do you want us _all_ to take turns? _Chao Listy, it’s been great, see you next ice age!?_ No, I was here first, Holly picked me, it's _my_ non-life, I've got bagsies."

Lister grumbled and returned to reading the ads in the puzzle magazine for the tenth time. He’d already doodled in all the margins. Rimmer smirked with smug satisfaction, feeling he’d won.

Their first row had been about the sleeping situation. Rimmer wanted to stay in the bunk. Lister insisted that, as an unfeeling hologram, he should take the stiff, plastic medi-bed. Rimmer pulled rank, but Lister stubbornly got in the bunk and lay inside his projection until the petulant weasel caved and left.

All the small things they usually argued about festered into constant torture. Rimmer tortured Lister with the sound of his pacing, whinging, and his terrible stories. Lister tortured Rimmer with the smell of what happens when you eat nothing but sprouts for far too long in an enclosed space. 

“Face ache.”

“What was that?”

Lister calmly put the mag in his lap. “You’re a miserable face ache.”

“So now you’re resorting to petty name-calling, you feckless tandoori-swilling dimwit?”

They couldn’t come to blows, though perhaps that would have felt better than the bickering. This wasn’t like their usual roommate wind ups and quibbles. There was something distinctly less fun about it.

“Smeg!” Lister stood bolt upright so quickly that Rimmer stumbled backward, terrified. Logically he couldn’t be harmed, but the talented self-preservation instincts inside him jumped to attention nonetheless.

“Smeg!” Lister said again, and Rimmer saw his line of sight was directed somewhere else. “Under the pipe, there!” A shaky curry-stained finger pointed towards where the floor met the wall.

“What, you buffoon? I don’t see anything.” Rimmer spat, testy.

Lister got down on the slick floor and tried to shove his hand into a narrow passage under a pipe. “Can’t quite…” He grunted. Looking around, his eyes landed on the knitting needles and crochet hooks. He snagged the longest one and used it to fish around the tight space.

With a faint tinkle of glass on tile, a little vial popped out and rolled away.

“A virus!” Rimmer cried, ecstatic. “That incompetent moggy must have dropped it. Which one is it??”

Lister scrambled after the tumbling vial, clutching the tiny container between his palms like it was a mirage, apt to be stolen from him at any moment. He studied it carefully. 

“Erm, blue. Blue. Smeg, loads of them were blue.” He turned it around, upside down, and sideways, finally noticing fine letters on one side. “Gnotus venustas… what the smeg is that?”

Lister shot Rimmer a hopeful look and the hologram could only shake his head with ignorance. “When Kryten drops by next, he can translate the label.” He offered instead.

Raking a hand through his hair, the scouser sat on the bunk calmly. The gears began to turn. “Okay. Let’s just think this through, man. If it’s luck, we’ll be out of here, easy. If not, it’s still a positive virus. Maybe it’ll help. Worst it can do is make me feel great.” 

“Faultless logic.” Rimmer jeered. “Contract a mysterious experimental disease made by a woman who’d gone mad. Couldn’t possibly be any harm in it. Go on, cheers.”

“I’m doing it.” Lister said staunchly, licking his lips in nervousness. He twisted the little white cap off and took a small sip. 

They both were still, as if waiting for a spark or triumphant music or _anything._

"Try the keypad." Rimmer squawked.

Lister punched in any numbers he felt like with no result.

"Erm, maybe Kryten is about to show up with a plan." Lister turned towards the dark glass wall and concentrated. Nothing.

The scouser looked around for inspiration. "Okay, got it.” He grinned. ”There's a secret door… here!" 

He tugged on a white plastic wall panel to no avail.

"It's not luck." Rimmer said grimly.

"Smeg." Lister flopped down at the table, dejected. "I don't feel different. Maybe it was a dud." He started to pry off his boots. 

Rimmer watched quietly. He never noticed how stylish Lister dressed before. It was unconventional, sure, but had a lot of appeal to him. The tall buckled boots were rebellious and gritty. 

"Are those new?" Rimmer asked curiously.

"No... same as always." Lister looked back, thrown by the odd question. 

"They're… nice." 

Lister eyed his companion suspiciously. He pulled one crusty sock off and sat it in the middle of the table. It was yellow around the corners and didn't bend much anymore. It smelled like the arse end of an incontinent horse. There were no changes of clothes in quarantine. 

"Sorry about me sock." He said pointedly. 

Rimmer saw it, but it didn't bother him. In fact, it was kind of quirky and fun how Lister slobbed about sometimes. Charming almost. Seemed like he was playing a harmless joke with the sock.

"Oh, quite alright."

"Rimmer." Lister bent over the table earnestly. "I was just thinking. Your collection of 'Morris Dancer Monthly,' it's a bit _stupid._ Makes you look like a twat. You should shoot it out the airlock.”

“Oh.” Rimmer’s face fell. “I… I didn’t realise. I do adore them. But. Yes, I suppose you’re right. _Of course_ you’re right. I’ll do that as soon as we get out of here. You're one heck of a friend, thank you." There wasn't one hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Smeg. It’s charisma.” Lister sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“What is?”

“The virus. I’m walking charisma now.”

A snide retort teased at Rimmer’s lips, ready to burst out, but he lost it as soon as it came to him. He felt no particular compulsion to be rude. 

“Are you certain?”

“When we get back to our quarters, I'd like to take both bunks and you can sleep on the floor."

"That's an incredible idea, why didn't I think of that." 

“See??”

Rimmer took a long moment to mull this over. “So… that’s why I don’t want to garrote you anymore.”

“If it’s charisma…Well, I reckon we’ll get on better, eh?” He frowned up at his bunkmate with sad eyes.

The hologram snorted. “As well as I can with a putrid space bum who chews his toenails and spits them on my bed.”

Lister held up the sock again and Rimmer cringed away in disgust.

“Alright, that’s that worn off.” He said, tossing the awful thing to the ground. “Look, I can take tiny doses, stretch it out, so we can put up with each other.”

“So you can be just as obnoxious and disgusting and I won’t mind you mean.”

“Well… yeah?”

Rimmer sneered and crossed his arms. “Only when it's absolutely, completely, and _totally_ intolerable _._ I don’t want to _simper_ over you 24/7.”

**Day 15.**

As the days wore on, their uneasy pact turned into Rimmer demanding Lister take a dose almost constantly. His tolerance for even the slightest disagreement was reduced to nothing.

On the other hand, Lister declared it 'really, really, really weird' when Rimmer was charmed. He found it unendingly creepy whenever the hologram agreed with him or complimented him or followed him around like a puppy. He'd have to be nagged into it, eventually deciding that the routine was better than being mercilessly harped on. 

They found a small lick was just enough to defuse any argument and a swig would get them through a friendly game of chess using uneven makeshift crocheted pieces. However, the wild mood swings in and of themselves began to take a toll. Not knowing what was next left them always on edge. Rimmer suspected his bunkmate was sneaking virus now and then to avoid the inevitable crash, but he had ceased to mind entirely. The sensation of charismatic Lister felt almost like a drug high. The more they used, the stronger the effects felt, seeming to build up over time. He was always eager for more.

Lister sat in the bunk humming a tune and knitting what looked vaguely like a lop-sided scarf. Rimmer found himself tapping his foot along cheerfully. 

There was still next to nothing for an intangible person to do, so he contented himself with watching Lister. It was one of the 'really, really, really weird' activities Lister endured. 

Rimmer thought about how marvellous it was that Lister knew how to knit. The work was objectively bad, full of dropped stitches and random colours, but the scouser had no fear of judgement. Such confidence. Such calm cool. He really admired that. He admired how Lister did whatever he wanted without worrying what other people think. No up the ladder for him. He was happy where he was. Whatever he hummed seemed wonderful as well. Perhaps Lister would teach him the song. Perhaps he would gift him the scarf.

Rimmer smiled to himself. He didn’t know why, but he really, _really_ wanted Lister to give him the scarf. 

The hologram cocked his head. Lister really did pull off a scarf well. And leather. Rimmer really loved leather. Not for himself, no, he could never. But Lister? He was made for it. Tight. Leather. How would he look in a leather mini-skirt?

“I fancy the pants off you right now.” Rimmer said, smiling vacantly, eyes glazed, pupils wide.

Lister froze, his eyes slowly rising to meet his bunkmate’s. He seemed to be struggling with how to reply, which Rimmer found incredibly endearing. 

“Erm, maybe we should talk about that after the virus wears off, eh?”

“That’s thoughtful.” The hologram blushed, still smiling. He got up and sat on the side of the mattress. Lister drew his knees up, shrinking away with annoyance.

Rimmer ran his hand along the bunk towards the man. “Do you want to-”

“Rimmer.” Lister said sternly. “You’re not thinking straight. We’ll talk when the virus wears off.”

“God, that’s so… _ethical_ of you.” The hologram leaned in closer, murmuring seductively.

“Smeg. That’s it, I’m pouring that rubbish down the sink.” Lister threw down his knitting to glare. “Rimmer, you’re going to regret this. I’ll not play along.”

Rimmer was practically on top of his bunkmate, crawling forward. Bits of his body clipped though Lister’s legs and torso. Biting his bottom lip, he whispered, “I want you. Plus your concern for me is making me really horny.”

_“Rimmer!”_

Something popped in Rimmer’s mind. He was suddenly hyper aware of just how close his face was to Lister’s. The smaller man has scrunched himself into the back of the bunk as far as he could go. All colour drained from the hologram’s face and an expression of open-mouthed horror set in. Petrified, he locked into place.

Lister swallowed and cleared his throat patiently. “Did it wear off?”

Rimmer forced himself to nod, small and slow. They stared at each other silently for what he knew was entirely too long. He just didn't know what to say or how to move. At this neurotic impasse, his brain had shut down. 

Lister grinned a little at the abject awkwardness. "You're still here." He pointed out gently. "Did you still want to do something?”

A small, shrill panic noise reverberated out of Rimmer’s throat, but he nodded again. He was stone cold sober, not even a virus to blame this on. But he'd started something that he wasn't actually strong willed enough to stop. 

Lister’s tense shoulders relaxed. Gingerly, he reached into Rimmer’s chest and ran his fingers lightly down the bee within. The projection distorted and fizzed at the edges almost imperceptibly.

“So.” He asked. “What are you going to do about it?”

_“Listy.”_ Rimmer choked out quietly.

Lister began to undo his fly, easing the tight denim down his hips. Rimmer, catching the hint, followed, opening his trousers just enough to expose the starched, white underwear. Together, they tentatively pulled themselves out, pulses racing. Rimmer’s hips hovered just above his bunkmate’s half-hard cock. If they could, it would have been easy to press together and feel each other's warmth. 

Slowly, Lister began to glide his hand down the growing length. He studied Rimmer's face as he did, trailing his gaze from hazel to ruffled curls down to the cheeks that only then were just beginning to regain their rosy hue. The hologram shivered under the scrutiny.

"God, you're such a smeghead." Lister growled. "But you smegging turn me on." 

Rimmer's cock twitched in his hand at the statement, unsure if he should be offended or flattered. His ego opted to take it as flattery. 

Happy with this, he squeezed and rubbed at a leisurely pace, letting small, pained moans work their way out of him. The hologram concentrated on the feeling of his palm, every muscle in his lower body straining hard. He moved forward, bending over the patch-covered leather jacket. A swell of heat built in his lungs and every nerve felt ready to-

Without warning, the hologram came. He gasped and cried out, making his partner jump in surprise. Pulsing spasms wracked him to the core as waves of digitally generated seed spilled noiselessly into Lister's gut and undoubtedly disappeared on the other side. 

The scouser beamed a grin at Rimmer. "I'm that good, eh?" 

_"Shut up."_ Rimmer croaked, "I can go again." 

The mattress creaked quietly as they worked. The hologram quickly recovered with determination to prove himself. Though their movement was slow, their breathing felt rough and labored.

"Let me see your chest." Lister requested. Slightly embarrassed, too heated up to decline, Rimmer nudged himself upright and undid the snaps on his tunic. As he shrugged it off, scalding hot anxiety welled in his heart. It buzzed with static when he dropped it to the floor, as did the shirt underneath.

Lister stretched a hand out as if to touch the flushed pecs. His fingers brushed through the light barrier uselessly and he let them drift downward, through the soft stomach and at last passing through the jutting erection. Stiff and impatient, it bobbed with the heaving of Rimmer's artificial breath. 

Rimmer resumed his strokes faster, angling his hips close to his bunkmate. His thighs clipped through the scouser's, giving away the illusion of a material body. This might normally have bothered him immensely, but all he could think was he was _inside_ Lister. It had a certain erotic appeal he hadn't expected. 

Inspired, he dipped lower, passing his cock through the larger one.

Lister bared his teeth and groaned, arching up into the projection with excitement. His climax shot through him like fire, the thick white fluid flowing over his knuckles in surges. Trembling and moaning, he tugged until the last drop wrung out. At last, red-faced and weary, he sank into the bed. 

Rimmer continued to stroke at the sprawled form of his bunkmate, freshly thrilled by the display. Lister was exhausted and satisfied. He did that. Him. Arnold J. Rimmer.

He could feel the heat curling through his body again. It would only take a little more. Thrusting helplessly, he gave his body permission to give in. His abs tightened involuntarily and for the second time he was shaking and coming and, God, it felt like pure euphoria.

Panting, Rimmer sat back on his heels, trying to catch his breath.

Lister let out a high whistle. He rolled over to wipe himself on a sheet. "I am more relaxed right now than I've been this whole time." He lifted his neck to peer at the hologramatic man warmly. "Why can't we do that instead of the bleeding virus next time?"

Rimmer took air deep into his lungs and blew it out hard. "I need a pizza."

"Wonderful news, sirs!"

Rimmer tumbled arse over elbow off the back of the bunk in terror, hitting the floor soundlessly. Lister began rapidly stuffing himself back in his trousers. 

"Kryten! You about gave us heart attacks!!" He scolded. 

"Oh, I apologize for startling you, sirs, but I _do_ have stupendous news!" 

“Let me guess. You’ve found a new industrial laundry detergent that can finally cut through those extra stubborn chutney stains?” Rimmer had righted himself, patting his red trousers, and was looking at the viewing window with annoyance.

"Excuse my curiosity, Mr. Rimmer sir, but why have you removed a portion of your uniform?" 

An angry flush filled the hologram's face. "None of your sodding business, you nosy lavatory brush." 

Lister waved a hand at Rimmer with an angry look. "Erm, Krytes, we just started a game of strip chess. Tell us what you found."

The mechanoid seemed terribly smug. "I’ve discovered an interesting fact running diagnostics this morning, sir. As I said before, the quarantine suites are, of course, three million years old. The skutters rarely perform routine maintenance on these decks and they've gone a bit _wonky_ to say the least. Well, seems that the door locking mechanisms haven't been in proper working order for the last hundred thousand years or so, give or take.”

"Let me get this straight.” Rimmer said, shooting daggers. “You’re telling me, we could have, at any time of our choosing, pushed that door open and walked right out?" 

“Oh I _knew_ you’d be pleased, sirs!”

...

Rimmer hovered near the entrance to the science room trying to think of an excuse to go in. He fiddled with his sleeve, half-heartedly eavesdropping. The mechanoid seemed in a chipper mood, which was a good sign. He and his bunkmate just didn’t have the kind of relationship where one could just _check in_ on the other.

He’d been somewhat cold and distant, he knew, after discovering what sordid things Lister and the intolerable ‘smug git,' Ace Rimmer, had done in the Officer’s Club. More than usual at least. He had stumbled across a recording on the blackbox, searching for imagined misdoings by their guest. He'd been mortified enough at his accidental findings to skip past the lewd encounter, but not enough to not listen to their conversation. He was offended, yes, enraged, yes, but his instincts were well vindicated. In the end, he kept it to himself.

The frustrating part for him was he had almost been over the insult, truly, when Nirvanah Crane had crashed into his life. She made him feel worth something, and then he had lost her. Since then, he didn’t honestly want to look at or talk to anyone.

But he did, because he had to. He had to pretend everything was fine, because the only thing worse than not being fine is everyone else knowing you’re not fine. 

Checking his posture and adjusting his expression, Rimmer turned the corner. Alarmingly, he found himself face-to-face with Kryten’s plastic visage. 

“Oh, Mr. Rimmer, sir!” Kryten said brightly with a bit of a nervous chuckle. “Excuse me, I’ve finished Mr. Lister’s medical exam and was just leaving.”

“Ahhhh everything hunky-dory?“ Rimmer said, as nonchalantly patronizing as he could muster. He turned toward Lister with an intentionally disingenuous smile. “Nothing of too much value fallen off, I trust?”

“Mr. Lister has healed nicely!” The mechanoid smiled with what might have been pride at a job well done. Or perhaps just authentically, altruistically pleased. It was off-putting.

“No permanent damage.” Lister cut in from his perch on the medi-bed where he was putting his leather jacket back on. “Except deep psychological wounds that will haunt me for life.”

Rimmer raised an eyebrow. “No embarkation on a journey of new-found love with arachnid sashimi, then?” 

_“Don’t_ remind me.”

Lister hadn’t been shy about detailing the horrible things the lows had put him through to his crewmates. He had seemed to take it all with a sense of humor. 

“If you’ll excuse me, sirs, C-deck isn’t going to tidy itself.” Kryten ducked out of the room briskly. Rimmer, immediately self-conscious, tried to make himself look busy with one of the screens. This proved difficult to do without touching the keyboards. That didn’t stop him from leaning in and feigning profound interest in monitoring read-outs that he had absolutely no understanding of. Why was Lister still here, why couldn’t he leave and put him out of his misery?

“You never saw your low, did you?” Lister prodded with a grin. 

“No.” Rimmer said, scanning numbers awkwardly. Something registered in his mind and he looked up suspiciously. “...Why?”

“You never asked me! Kryten asked about his, Cat asked about his. Holly too. Aren’t you even the least bit curious what the worst, nastiest, most foul parts of you are? Or do you already know from looking in the mirror?”

“After the psi-moon, I’ve had my fill of introspection for a lifetime.”

Lister chewed on his lip with a wicked smile, clearly holding onto something he wanted to say.

_“Fine,_ tell me.”

“Stockings.” Lister blurted with delight.

“I don't want to hear more.”

“Feathers.”

“I said I’m done, Lister.”

“Leather and _whips.”_

“You’re just winding me up.”

“I swear on me gran’s _grave,_ man. He wanted to _‘have’_ me, y’know.”

Rimmer glared at the cheeky gerbil face and tried to decide how honest this was. Something else had been bothering him the last few days. As he had cowered valiantly in the box on the low ship, Rimmer had the singular misfortune of hearing the high Lister and Rimmer walk by. They’d been doting on each other with sloppy, sugary praise and lovesick promises. If holograms could throw up, the box would have been a lot less comfortable and aromatic.

“Don’t believe you. How would a hologram 'have' anyone anyway?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Lister clambered into a cross-legged position on the medi-bed near Rimmer and held his hands up dramatically to try and articulate. “So, these sick bastards, low you and me, see. I’m sitting there, can’t move. Over in the corner they’re messing around. Low you, like he gets down on his knees and uses his lightbee-”

“Lister! Is there a point to this disgusting story??” Rimmer’s hands were pressed into tight fists and he had turned a lovely shade of red.

“Wanna try it?” A huge grin broke out on Lister’s face.

Rimmer jerked back, his brow wrinkled.

“Is this your pathetic idea of a chat up line?” The hologram sputtered, nostrils flaring. “Is that what we’re doing now? It might be hard for you to conceive, but I’ve got a little respect for myself still. You think that a couple drunk wanks means I’m interested in _anything_ you have to offer? You can’t seriously believe that I’m such a desperate, pitiable, deprived, loser that a grotty thing like you can walk up and dangle the smallest bit of potential sexual encounter in front of me and I’ll jump at the chance like a starving dog.”

He swallowed hard.

“Well, I am. What did you want to do?”

“‘ey, that’s the attitude!” Lister hopped up and stepped closer. He tilted his head and flashed flirty eyes, fingers tracing the light edge of Rimmer’s collar. “Take this off and I’ll show you.”

“Kryten-” 

“Is busy scrubbing C-deck.”

“Cat-”

“It’s the middle of his afternoon snooze. I wanna see all of you, and I don't want to wait.”

Rimmer licked his lips and glanced away, considering. "Fine. But you as well."

He couldn't make eye contact as he stiffly removed the red uniform. There was a pestering voice in his head screaming that this was all wrong. The science room was all wrong. Disrobing was wrong. A man was all wrong. _Lister_ was very much all wrong. How had it escalated to this so quickly? He wanted to ridicule his bunkmate and stroll out. To show this was beneath him. He couldn't. The problem was, it really wasn’t. The smaller head in his trousers was in charge now and he no longer had any say in the matter.

He had no idea what temperature the room was, but Rimmer shivered as his bare skin met the air. 

Lister had stripped far more casually and quickly, plainly eager. He stood, stroking his semi with one leather-covered hand. The scouser followed his bunkmate's gaze toward the gloves and winked. “You like leather, don't ya?”

Rimmer scowled, but it didn't have the effect he'd hoped for. 

Lister waited, watching the red trousers finally sliding down the hologram's slim waist. The last scrap of clothing hit the floor and as Rimmer stepped out of them they fizzed away from existence. Slowly, Lister reached as if to touch his bunkmate's sternum, letting his hand float past the fair skin. Rimmer closed his eyes as the fingers drifted along the ridges of his lightbee. If he concentrated, he could imagine feeling that caress on the innermost core of his being. 

Rimmer dropped to his knees shakily. The industrial grey floor looked as though it should send jabbing pain through his bones, but he felt nothing. 

"Like this?" He said, mouth dry. He'd never had another man's package so near his face before. A small thud that could have been panic or arousal thundered in his chest. He didn’t know which was worse.

"Yeah." Lister said softly. He whisked his thumb through the small scar on the Ionian's jaw.

"And then what?"

Lister leaned back slightly, finding the medi-bed for support. 

"He took his lightbee and rubbed it." He used two fingers to indicate where. 

Rimmer moved closer. He was tall. His chest sat about hip-height, but he had to stretch to align the little metal bee that sat low in his rib cage. Completely uncertain but determined to seem competent, he pushed forward gently. 

His light-generated body sank effortlessly inside the other man until a small point of resistance stopped him. Lister flinched as the warm sensation made contact.

Approaching the task as best as he could without actually feeling anything, Rimmer began to run the lightbee up and down. It slipped off several times until Lister reached down to hold his hard-on steady. Finally they seemed to find a motion that worked and little 'ahhs' and 'nnns' started to sneak out of the scouser.

Rimmer slipped a hand around to his own hardening erection. He felt awkwardly balanced, legs spread for stability. He had the choice of staring across the soft, smooth torso into big brown eyes or down to see the disconcerting image of a massive cock penetrating his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“T-too hard.” Lister put a hand out unthinkingly and it passed through the hologram’s shoulder.

Rimmer backed off the pressure and accidentally slipped to the side again. He grunted in frustration.

Lister pulled away. “Ah, let’s just stop.”

Rimmer sat back with relief, rubbing his spine. “That was… actually really _smegging_ hard on my back.” He hissed, wincing. 

“Yeah, weren’t too great for me either. Worth a try.”

“Is that what giving a tit job feels like? I'm surprised more women aren't in permanent traction.”

“No,” Lister laughed, crouching to sit alongside Rimmer on the floor. “Don’t think so, man. Come here.” 

Both men sank against the central console, grateful for the more comfortable position. They touched themselves with long, lazy strokes, breathing softly. Lister was not shy about visually exploring his bunkmate’s body. He seemed so serious, so open, letting his eyes wander.

Rimmer’s skin burned where it was inspected, hot and vulnerable, making the hair rise on the back of his neck. He absently ran his palm over his pecs, feeling incredibly naked. He had never been looked at with such undisguised desire like this before. He was lucky when he got indifference. The longing way the scouser stared had his stomach fluttering and heart hammering. He didn’t deserve this. It was distressing and confusing and exciting and he wanted more.

He had a sudden aching frustration, one he hadn’t felt so acutely since the first few weeks of his resurrection. He needed to touch, to grope, press, poke, squeeze, lick, and fumble like a fool. A sorrowful moan strangled its way out of his mouth. He needed to kiss the full, pouty, lips that always dropped open ever so slightly at the sight of him. 

With that thought, Rimmer came with small, shuddering gasps.

He despised himself.

Rimmer closed his eyes and deliberately tried to cut off his thoughts. For the moment, he could ignore where he was. He could sit and ride the waning feeling of pleasure that tingled through him. He couldn’t shut out sound though, so he had to quietly listen to the panting and groaning as Lister brought himself to completion. It seemed to take forever.

When Rimmer opened his eyes, the scouser’s leg had drifted outward, just barely brushing the edge of his projection. He looked at the two legs, flesh and photon, dangerously close and a tightness gripped his guts.

Smeg.

Lister wiped himself up with his boxers and collected his shirt, shoving it behind his head like a pillow. Out came a cigarette from his hat. Clearly he was intent on not going anywhere for a while. Rimmer hated him for being so casual about this, but he stayed nevertheless.

The cigarette was half gone when Lister spoke. 

“I didn’t tell anyone, but… I killed us. The highs. I can deal with the stupid spider and hot water and that. But…” 

Rimmer looked at him silently, not knowing what to say.

“They just _stood there_ and let me. With these _smiles."_

"No self-preservation.” The hologram sniffed dismissively. “Can that really be so good and perfect?"

"Rimmer, that same day you tried to convince Kryten to flush me and Cat out an airlock to save your own hide, and then later to bazookoid me. A little selflessness now and then couldn't hurt." The scouser shamelessly picked at earwax with his pinky.

The hologram scoffed, "NON-lethally, in the kneecaps. Besides, you can't blame me for being practical."

"Heartless. When's the last time you did anything for anyone, no strings attached?"

Rimmer did have to think about that one. It wasn't exactly his forte, unselfish acts. He usually had at least some angle to even a ‘how-do-you-do.’

"You never asked why I came back from The Enlightenment." He settled on at last.

"I reckon you got found out as a cheat, yeah?"

"I resigned."

_"Resigned? You?"_

"Someone else deserved it more." 

"You're kidding." Lister sat upright and took a good hard look into Rimmer's face, smoke floating in wisps around him. It rattled the hologram but he didn't turn away. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was a truth, and that was more than he usually could say.

"Huh. I believe you." Suitably convinced, Lister reclined again, content.

“Lister…?”

“Rimsy.”

“Why didn’t you ask for Kochanski’s personality disk? When I left? Why did you interview other crew members?"

Lister apparently had to think over whether to answer or not, pressing his lips together with apprehension. He stabbed the cigarette dimp out on the bare floor with a sigh. Rimmer regretted the question. 

"Didn't feel right. It's not the same. No touching. No kids. I couldn't do that. I wanna get it right with her."

“I see.” Rimmer huffed, glaring at the far wall. "Too cruel an existence to be brought back as a hologram."

"Oh, listen man, I didn't mean it like that." 

"Wouldn't know you're holding out for miss perfect, the way you keep trying to bonk everyone you see."

"Hang on, so, _what,_ I gotta be celibate?"

"Please. I'm surprised you're not Mrs. Ace-Smegging-Rimmer, the way you two were slobbering all over each other."

Lister pushed himself up, a look of recognition dawning on his face. "Oh my God. Ace was right. You _are_ jealous. Hey guy, this is just a bit of fun." 

"Jealous??" Rimmer's voice was high and indignant as he scrambled to his feet. "Lister, are you familiar with the phrase, _'Not if you were the last man in the universe'?_ It seems particularly applicable here."

Lister completely ignored the deflecting comment. “We don’t get on, Rimmer. You’re a cold-blooded, self-serving weasel. You’re soulless. You’re a narrow-minded worm with all the morals and ego of a fascist dictator. Forgive me if I just don't feel that way about you.”

"How can you be accusing me?! _You're_ the one who keeps starting things. You hate me! Yet you apparently find me irresistible."

"Because I'm horny, and I'm an idiot, and you’re literally the closest thing to human around here."

"Bottom line, Listy - I'm not interested in a bloated, slobby, space indigent who thinks hot sauce is a food group. Not in the slightest. Besides, I'm straight."

_"Straight??"_ Lister snorted, barely suppressing his laugh.

"Like an arrow." 

"More like the bow."

Rimmer glowered menacingly.

Lister shook his head, "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have pressured you into anything, Captain Hetero." He gave a sarcastic salute and started rummaging in his jacket for a much needed second cigarette.

Rimmer took a deep breath and put on an air of superiority. "No, no, I can see that this is my fault."

The scouser looked at him incredulously. "Since when do you take blame for anything?"

"Oh not entirely mind you, but think about it. Walking around here in underwear for years with _my_ physique. Sculpted and trim like a Roman statue. It must have been absolutely maddening for you. Like holding a carrot in front of a horse, or an essential oils MLM in front of a yuppie housewife with a midlife crisis.”

"If you're a statue, that does explain the stone-cold heart."

"Come again?"

Lister stood impatiently and started yanking his trousers back on. "Nothing. Just, okay so you don't have feelings for me, great. What's the problem?"

"There is none."

"Great."

"Good."

"Brilliant."

"Fantastic."

"Alright, dudes?" Holly appeared on the monitors without warning. Her blank expression didn’t waver. "If you’re all done with your tiff now, we’ve got a derelict on the radar."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think you're having deja vu, I removed the paragraph about Rimmer seeing Ace on the blackbox from the last chapter and put it here instead, seemed to fit the narration better.
> 
> Next chapter... Hard light.


	6. Series 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW gun violence, some self-directed derogatory words for gay, rough/messy oral

In his quarters, Rimmer debated what to do. He could take an honest-to-God shower for the first time since death, but their water supplies were dreadfully low, even with the re-cyc.

He was alone, having demanded the room to himself as the most senior rank present. The others had eagerly agreed, glad for the breathing space it gave them. No one would know if he sneaked this meager treat.

In the end, the temptation was too much and he allowed himself five glorious minutes under the steaming hot showerhead. Of course, it turned out he needed ten minutes to toss one off and then make sure he was properly clean, that couldn’t be helped. Warm and blissful in the steam of the bathroom, he noticed in the mirror that his new projection simulated reactions to the temperature as well, flushing his chest and shoulders pink. Here he was, as neat as a pin, spick and span. Tangible. 

He slid into bed carefully, unused to the give of the mattress. It was thin and threadbare but it felt like a hug made of warm cream and perfectly arranged timetables when he curled up between it and the thick duvet. Not as nice as the one Legion had conjured, but anything was a big step up from the stiff slab of nothingness he was used to falling asleep on.

His pleasure was short lived as he tried to doze off, preoccupied by overthinking. Now that he was capable of so much, more would be expected of him. The crew would want him to do grunt work unbefitting his senior rank. Just when he could eat again, their supplies were nearly out. He could feel pain. He didn’t know how much it would take to injure his hardlight form, but he didn’t particularly want to find out. 

He rubbed his head, still sore where Kryten had bashed it not too long ago.

‘Nurieek.’ 

Rimmer switched on the cassette _‘Esperanto in 30 Days’_ for something to distract himself. The hushed monotone voice began whispering into his ear.

'Rotut.'

Rimmer had been too proud to admit he’d picked the worse bunkroom. It was the bigger of the two, the other just being the beds in ops, but the nightly noises bothered him even over his sleep-learning tapes.

'Hernunger.' 

“Oh will you shut up!” He snapped at the pipe behind him.

Too wrapped-up in his own head to relax, he sat up, tugging his dressing gown tight over his shoulders. Self-loathing started to creep in as he scolded himself for thinking negatively. He wanted to enjoy this moment, experience the pleasure of existence again, not obsess over problems. He could read, he could play games, he could do anything he wanted. 

Restlessly he paced around the grey space. Most of his best possessions were back on Red Dwarf. There was nothing to do here.

Rimmer checked the ship’s internal clock. It was late. Cat and Lister would have disappeared into their quarters by now, asleep or not. If he wanted to, he could probably nip down to the galley and find a little something to indulge in. Nothing unreasonable, of course, just a perfectly practical snack to put him in a better mood. He wasn’t irresponsible. 

He wondered how much food they had left anyway, and if it was any good. He should be more on top of their supplies than this, he mentally noted. An inventory day was well overdue. The idea of filling out pages and pages of paperwork with his own two hands made him irrationally happy. He fidgeted with a pen in his pocket in anticipation. 

As Rimmer slipped into the corridor, a creaking 'Sqweloookle’ followed him.

The hologram sneaked a guilty peek at the cockpit from a distance and padded quietly into the tiny kitchen. No sign of Kryten. The mechanoid was likely sorting through madras-streaked trousers and frilly pink button-ups somewhere.

Making the most of his time, Rimmer began popping open cabinets. Not in the habit of eating nor cooking, he was lost on what Kryten’s pantry organization could be, but with the lack of supplies it couldn’t be difficult to explore. As expected, the shelves were mostly bare, save a few JMC issue spices, vegetable oil, chili peppers, an onion, and hot sauce. A few corn flakes still remained at the bottom of their box, though not enough to be pinched without anyone taking notice and definitely not enough to make a satisfying snack.

Discouraged, he opened the small fridge in hopes of something substantial. Cold air spilled out and across his feet, startling him momentarily. Temperature changes were going to be hard to get used to again.

A rather dreary head of wilted lettuce sat shoved into the back behind a bag of what looked like it had been scraped off the hull in desperation. He grabbed a promising sealed container in the bottom. It proved to be full of space weevils, somehow less appetising when chilly.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Rimmer glanced towards the entryway, unphased at being caught bang to rights, especially considering the crime was pretty unachievable. Lister leaned against the doorframe, his stained long johns drooping over his shoulder loosely. White was not his colour.

Giving up, the hologram slouched, indicating the open fridge with an upturned palm. “I was going to nick something to eat, but this is just depressing...”

“Decided you’d starve me and Cat, eh?”

“Looks like you don't need the help.”

Lister didn’t seem mad. If anything, Rimmer thought, he appeared… amused? Understanding?

A new, thoughtful expression suddenly crossed the scouser’s face as he considered his bunkmate. 

Rimmer closed the door uncertainly. “What?”

“Here.” Lister jerked his head towards a panel under the stove. He crouched down to pull it open, which it did reluctantly, banging from side to side. “I’ve been saving this.”

Clinking loudly, a green cardboard case slid into view. 

“Beer?!” The hologram shuffled aside so it could be pulled out.

Lister hoisted it to the countertop, shaking his head. “Dutch lager.”

“Close enough.”

Lister smirked. “Ran out of the good stuff yonks ago. So tonight,” He patted the case fondly. “We drink warm dutch lager.”

"Do you think I can get drunk?" Rimmer's worried eyes flitted between the drinks and Lister. "Ah, that is, with hardlight and real alcohol?"

"Why not?" Lister shrugged. "If not, you can at least enjoy trying." Whenever he shrugged, his bottom lip always stuck out a little. For some reason, this made the shrug more reassuring. 

Rimmer watched as the scouser pried the box open. Lister always was a real dewy-eyed sop. Still, this was a surprisingly nice thing to do for your bastard ex-boss-stroke-bunkmate. It was possible he wanted something in return. Had some underhanded plan. Why else would deep space's biggest inebriate give up his secret stash? 

Lister brought a bottle to the corner of the stove, popping the cap off with a swift smack from the heel of his palm. He shoved the fizzing beer into Rimmer's hands before grabbing his own, plopping himself on the cheap laminate counter's edge. The baggy cloth of his long johns caught as he scooted back, pulling tight against his thighs. 

Raising his drink aloft, Lister grinned wide. 

"To hardlight." 

Despite himself, Rimmer smiled back. Smarmy, self-pleased, but a smile. 

Their bottles clicked together with a bright sound and Rimmer eagerly brought his to his lips. As the liquid hit his tongue, he could tell it was skunky, clearly expired. A bouquet of musty hops and a finish like stale water. It was lovely.

Savoring another balmy, room-temperature sip, Rimmer shut his eyes and let the bubbly carbonation tickle the roof of his mouth. Even the once familiar sensation of a beverage going down his throat had him swooning.

"Jesus, you act like this piss is dom pérignon." Lister chuckled good-naturedly, snapping Rimmer to attention. He was drinking his own beer with only the slightest grimace and only the slightest trickle had dribbled down to his collar. 

_“You_ had enough restraint to not swill this weeks ago? You?” Rimmer commented irritably, embarrassed. 

“Hey, weeks?" Lister laughed, feigning offense. "I just spent 200 years sober, me."

The alcohol worked on hardlight just fine. They drank quickly, Rimmer having little restraint and Lister never one to lag behind. Stored in the fridge, the old lager became slightly more palatable as it chilled, or maybe it was the squiffy relaxation winding through them that made them think so. Eventually, when standing became more work than it was worth, Rimmer crawled up to sit with Lister on the counter, their knees knocking together in the small space.

Something about drinking always made Rimmer more fond of his revolting bunkmate. One of many reasons why he didn’t imbibe too often. Lister wasn’t good for much, but he knew how to disarm people. When he was happy and sauced, the mood was infectious. 

Closer up, Rimmer could see the turmeric-yellow stain on the long john’s better. They were missing a middle button too. But the bare shoulder jutting out at him from the overly large neckline looked clean and smooth, probably freshly showered after a hard day of repairs. Flustered, he also noticed the outline of Lister’s package was clearly visible in the fabric.

Lister kept prodding for descriptions of how real sensations felt after years of living as softlight, hanging onto every word. If there was one thing Rimmer could do, it was talk about himself, and he did so with plenty of gusto. Somewhere along the line, he stopped, completely befuddled, declaring, "My God, I think… I think I have to urinate." 

This made Lister double over in uncontrollable laughter which lasted well until after his hologramatic companion returned from the deed, looking uneasy. 

"I haven't done that since-" Rimmer began, catching himself halfway through. He reddened. The last time, he had been using Lister's body.

"Like riding a bike, eh?" The scouser asked, teary eyed. He waved another bottle temptingly. 

As Rimmer took the drink, seating himself on the counter, Lister clapped his back, sloppy and hard. 

“Now that you've pissed and gotten pissed, what’s next on the bucket list?”

“Not much else, I suppose. Pressing the buttons on the navi-com. Holding my own cards during poker night. Treat Rachel to a date, perhaps? It’s like I’m alive again. I can touch, I can feel, I can fondle, and I’m stuck on this ramshackle crate with nothing but urine re-cyc and you lot. Typical.”

Lister smirked to himself. He swayed slightly, bumping his shoulder into Rimmer’s in a knowing, friendly way. The hologram’s arm tingled warmly at the touch. 

"Hey. Listen, guy. I've got one more thing for ya.” Lister jumped down and began rummaging in the hidden space under the stove. His calves flexed tight as he squatted. Rimmer hadn’t noticed how skinny his companion had gotten lately. Between the thick boilersuits covered in leather and the ‘Acting Senior Officer’s’ general lack of interest in the wellbeing of others, it hadn’t been on his radar. Lister certainly didn’t complain.

From the back of the nook, the scouser produced a red and yellow wrapped candy bar with ‘Toffee Crispy’ across the front.

“A Crispy Bar… Really?” Rimmer said, his mouth beginning to water.

“Me favourite.” Lister grinned ear-to-ear. 

When the candy was extended to him, Rimmer just stared at it with unexpected apprehension. A sudden wave of guilt and self-loathing washed over him. He didn’t deserve this. He was worthless. His jaw worked as if to speak but words had trouble coming out.

“I- I probably shouldn’t. I don’t need it."

“Yeah, but it's not _food_ food.”

“It’s calories."

“Okay.” Lister huffed heavily and ripped the package open. Once inside, he neatly snapped the chocolate bar in two, poking one end towards Rimmer again. “Half for me, half for you. Fair?”

“You’ve been eating asteroidal lichen and space weevils, I can’t possibly take this. It's wasteful.”

"So, _Mr. Morals,_ you'll sneak a nibble when no one is looking, but you won't take one when offered? What’s with the sudden attack of integrity, eh? I can’t believe you.” 

Lister jabbed the Toffee Crispy bar closer to the hologram, making him flinch backward. Rimmer put up his hands in protest but the scouser took this as a challenge. He pulled a cheeky grin and started aiming for his bunkmate’s mouth.

All at once, they were grappling, Lister laughing and trying to pry Rimmer’s arms away to insert the candy, Rimmer’s hardlight giving him the unfair advantage to resist. The body heat in the drunken tangle had melted the outside of the bar just enough to make it dangerously messy and hard to hold. Between grunts of “C’mon!” and “Lister!” the morsel got away from them, tumbling across the floor, but not before Lister managed to make a triumphant smear across Rimmer’s bottom lip.

Forgetting his original premise, Rimmer smuggly decided this was an adequate victory, moving his gaze from the ground back to Lister with an obnoxiously snotty smirk. 

Instead of pulling away as expected, Lister stayed put, eyes trained on the hologram’s mouth. Rimmer froze, tense. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips nervously and he was surprised at the sugary taste he found there. He had Lister’s left wrist in a vice grip still, but the scouser’s right hand reached up to pull the pad of his thumb across the chocolate smudged lip, pushing softly.

That ache tightened in Rimmer’s chest again, the urge to press skin against skin. This time, there were no frustrating obstacles, nothing to stand in his way. He was really, physically, here, material and solid. His cheeks felt hot all over, encouraged by the lager, spilling a heated flush across his face and down his neck. When Lister’s lips parted, the tiniest, most feeble gasp left the hologram. Any further thought was interrupted as their mouths met.

Lister gently licked and sucked Rimmer’s bottom lip, taking care to clean the chocolate away before pushing in to find his tongue. The foul lout tasted of bad beer and sugar with a lingering smell of burnt ash in a way that had no business being as wonderful as it was.

Rimmer leaned into it, breathing deep. He released Lister’s wrist, instead sliding both hands around his bunkmate’s waist, lifting him closer. Lister took the opportunity to push him back into the wall, pinning him tightly, forearms tense and straining. The kisses landed harder, more urgently as he slotted his leg between the hologram’s thighs. Rimmer knew the other man was much shorter, but when Lister kissed him this way, he felt small.

His cock had been interested already, but grinding up against the stiffening package in Lister’s long johns accelerated the process. The light pyjama bottoms couldn’t conceal his quick, intense arousal. He moaned as his hard-on rubbed in the tight space between them, flexing his hips upward.

Lister pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against the shining silver H. 

“Incredible.” He breathed, dragging his knuckles along Rimmer’s jaw. “You even smell like you.”

Rimmer’s stomach did a small flip. 

Lister had been craning up on his toes to reach the dizzying height of Rimmer's lips. He sank back, pulling the hologram with him, pressing heated, wet kisses along the muscle in his neck. 

Rimmer peered over the scouser's bare shoulder, running his hand down to the spot where the long johns clung to the curve of his arse. There was a dark brown handprint on the right side of his bum where he had hastily wiped the chocolate off. 

“This is disgusting." Rimmer yanked at the white cloth, pulling it taut against the round backside. "Take it off.”

Lister seemed very pleasantly surprised at this order. He stepped back, revealing an erection overtaxing the capacity of the long johns' crotch. He pulled at the buttons impatiently, giving up halfway down and wiggling out of the rest.

It had been too long, Rimmer thought, since he’d seen his bunkmate like this. He really had lost weight, his ribs just showing when he stretched to pull at the sleeve. The V-line of his hips stuck out more than before, framing the soft, black curls and the hologram realised that was exactly where he wanted to put his tongue should he have the opportunity.

With space between their bodies, Rimmer could see his own pyjama bottoms as well, tenting at the front. He had just started shrugging his dressing gown off when Lister took hold of his waistband roughly. With a little help, the silky cloth came down easily, dissolving into static as it hit the tile. Rimmer snatched a sharp intake of breath at the hard, cool surface under his arse, the edge biting into his skin.

Lister tucked his thumbs under Rimmer’s hipbones to either side and pulled him forward, letting his fingers squeeze into his flanks. The hardlight hard-on bobbed with the motion, standing alone in the air and twitching for attention. Instead of bothering with it, the scouser reached for another wet kiss, trapping the cock against his stomach. His own erection poked and dragged along the sensitive crease where the hologram’s bottom met his inner thigh.

Lips soft and pliant but pressing insistently, Lister found more spots to plant kisses along Rimmer’s jaw and throat. The little gasps this produced served only to egg him on. He wormed a hand under the grey pyjama top, gliding his palm blindly over the contours of the hologram’s simulated abs, over the line of his ribcage and up to explore the planes of his pecs. Rimmer, overwhelmed, unsure of what to do now that he could, resigned to letting his bunkmate do whatever he wanted with him. 

Lister turned to the top’s buttons, pulling them loose one by one, kissing the exposed skin under each. By the time he arrived at the last one, the hologram was shaking and making humming noises in fits and starts. Letting the pyjamas fall open, Lister groaned with appreciation and tongued the flat surface of Rimmer’s belly where the little line of hair started. 

“Smeg. You’re incredible.” He reiterated softly.

That tight ache in his chest hit Rimmer like a punch again. He didn't know how to react to praise, but feeling adored was something new and intoxicating. He couldn’t believe someone wanted to touch him like this. Really, truly, wanted to. 

Lister’s hand traveled up to cup the bottom side of the waiting hard-on, squeezing it downward gently. He placed a kiss under the head where it showed between his fingers. Rimmer had never heard himself make a sound like he did then, moaning long, low, and longingly. He lost his grip, sliding down the counter and, before he could collect himself fully, Lister shifted, taking him into his mouth.

It felt like an explosion in Rimmer’s head, the plush lips wrapped around him. It wasn’t an activity he had much experience with, and the idea of it happening was almost as arousing as the act itself. The scouser had apparently had practise, pushing his tongue to the underside and sucking him in deep. He followed along with the motions, pumping into his own fist, each stroke slow and luxurious in a way the hologram had difficulty handling. Rimmer was whimpering pathetically, bucking deeper, feeling himself edging closer and closer.

A stray rational thought hit him, nagging that one should - in all likelihood - last longer than this during any coital activities or suffer ridicule. He didn’t want to botch this so soon. In a forced, begging voice, he managed to squeeze out, “Stop, stop, you’re going to make me...”

Lister looked up with deliberate, smouldering eyes and proceeded to ignore his request. It was too much. Rimmer stifled a long whine, stiffening his back. He felt himself emptying into the hot, wet space above Lister’s tongue in rough spasms as the scouser sucked him down. A surge of shame at how easily he lost control washed over him, his cock still overstimulated by the relentless rush of pleasure.

As his muscles began to still, Lister at last let him loose, placing kisses along the sensitive length. “I wanna see how many times I can make you come.” He purred.

Rimmer’s jaw hung open. Lister helped him close it with another kiss.

The hologram pushed forward, yearning, fingers frantically exploring wherever they could reach. He trailed from the hard surface of Lister’s shoulder blades down to his hips, dragging his palms down that sweet little V that pointed toward the impressive cock.

It was so absurdly, delightfully big.

He fit his hand around the thing, savoring the girth. He never thought he’d get a chance to hold it again. He missed the familiar weight, the soft slide of skin. As he pulled gently up to the head, the scouser moaned quietly into his mouth.

In response, Lister placed his palm over the hologram’s slick cock. It hadn’t softened much in the interlude and already was rising back to the occasion. Together they found a rhythm, building faster than the last time. Panting, Rimmer locked his chin over Lister’s shoulder. He was busy concentrating on his own bliss when he felt a saliva-wet finger teasing at his entrance. His breath caught in his throat with a squeaky, “Ah!”

“Please?” Lister whispered, sensing hesitation. He let the tip of his forefinger circle around the rim.

With a shaky breath, Rimmer nodded. 

Given permission, the finger pushed softly, continuing the even circles. It prodded with patience while Lister stroked faster with his other hand. Rimmer trembled, having trouble keeping up with his own pace. When his sensitive hole accepted the finger inside, electricity shot through his whole body. He rolled his hips into it, relishing the pressure as it filled him.

They heaved in unison, Rimmer’s feet scrambling to find purchase, finally hooking his leg over the small of Lister’s back. The hologram’s hand faltered at its job and he ultimately had to let go, gripping instead on the counter’s edge. He knew he must look awkward and ridiculous, but it was all he could do just to not explode.

The steady finger fucked into him harder, rough, finding that little spot that made him feel ready to blow. Gasping and clawing at his bunkmate’s back, he arched into another shattering climax. He clenched his teeth, trying to not be loud, yet wanting to scream. Lister comforted him with soft kisses down his neck and collarbone as he rode the high, finally falling back onto the cool laminate.

Dazed, Rimmer opened his eyes to a wide, gerbil-faced grin. The scouser was down on his elbows, hands on cheeks and staring with joy. “One more?” He asked, tilting his head.

Rimmer seized the back of Lister’s neck, pulling him hard into a thankful kiss. Hastily, he stood, bending down to wrap himself around the smaller man, unsure but needy. His hand found its way back to the twitching, neglected erection and began to pet it. 

Rimmer suddenly felt enormous pressure to make this good for Lister too. He just didn’t exactly know what you did with a man. He didn’t even have women properly sorted. Panic began to rise in his throat as he desperately tried to think of how not to cock this up like an idiot.

Mercifully, Lister took the reins with impatience. Crashing up against the narrow strip of wall, the scouser gathered both hard-ons up into one handful, pressing them together in long strokes, his bicep twitching with the effort. 

Looking down, Rimmer could see their cockheads peeking up through the circle of Lister’s fingers, rubbing along each other. He felt positively minuscule up against the larger cock, but that somehow sent a thrill through him anyway. The sight of the two, disproportionate, both crimson blushed and wet at the tip.

Rimmer needed more. He wanted to take his own pleasure selfishly from his bunkmate and he wanted to make the gerbil-faced goit moan his name. His hands grabbed tightly onto Lister’s arse and slid and pulled and shoved the smaller man, bringing him to the ground. He tried to be gentle about it, but he didn’t try very hard. 

If he had any grain of expertise in the bedroom, it would be thrusting like an idiot, so he did what he knew. Leaning over his bunkmake, Rimmer did his best to match his strokes and speed from before. His cock moved along Lister's, detouring to slip across his soft stomach and back again. He reached down to tug and rub the beautiful, big hard-on, bucking impatiently with the movement. 

Against the odds, he must have been doing something right because Lister choked out a groan, pushing back into the friction. Rimmer’s knees hurt like hell where they bit into the hard tile, but he could only think about one part of his anatomy at a time.

Rimmer dropped closer, letting his fingers twist in Lister’s locks. He found the scouser’s lips again, soft and pleading. 

Before the hologram was prepared for it, Lister came, shaking and groaning. The white, sticky ropes landed on his chest and stomach, each spasm seeming like a struggle to survive. Rimmer stilled himself, letting Lister work through the effort, tugging weakly at their combined erections until his grip dropped at last. 

With an unexpected growl, the scouser rolled over, forcing his unlikely partner down where he could take him back into his mouth. Right at the edge and entirely too easy, it didn’t take much longer before Rimmer too was there, hissing a crazed falsetto refrain of _“Listy! Listy! Listy!”_ as he finished.

Collapsing into a confusing pile of limbs, the two men struggled to catch their breaths over the loud thud of their heartbeats. Being the one with a bit more sense of the pair, Lister dragged himself upright, inviting Rimmer's head into his lap. 

Unsteady and pleasantly mindless, Rimmer took the offer gratefully. He watched as his bunkmate, red cheeked and exhausted, half-assed a clean up with his already soiled long johns. The damp baby hairs along his temple clung to his skin.

Without warning, a gust of freezing air smacked Rimmer's backside as Lister fetched two more beers from the fridge. He yelped in annoyance, screwing up his nose, but he took the drink without complaint. 

“Think you could go again?” Lister asked, taking a deep swig. He poked the hologram in the ribs playfully. 

“Why, is that an offer?” Rimmer scoffed back. He didn't know if he should be annoyed at his speedy arrivals being pointed out or not.

_“Smeg, no_. Four, really? You're having me on.”

 **  
**“I had a wank earlier too.” The hologram tried to maneuver a sip without sitting up. It worked well enough.

Lister chuckled to himself. Absent-mindedly, he dragged his fingers through the brown curls at the nape of his bunkmate's neck. 

Rimmer closed his eyes, enjoying the foreign feeling of being petted.

That, whatever it was, fumbling and awkward, was better than anything he’d had before. Simulated or otherwise. The first time a sentient, flesh and blood human wanted to touch him like this without mistaking him for some bloke named Norman. Hell, save for Nirvanah, it was the only other time it'd lasted longer than a quattro formaggio with extra olives. 

_'There you go.'_ He thought to himself bitterly. _'You’re a nance, Arnie. A fairy. A shandy drinker. A great, flaming ponce. It’s official. I wonder where it is you pick up your card?'_

“Do we do this now?” Rimmer said, a little unsettled. He let the artificial gravity press his cheek into the warm flesh of Lister's thigh as he rested on it. The soft heat that radiated out made him want to snuggle in and stay forever. “Have sex?”

“I suppose.” Lister hummed. "Now and then. If you want to.”

“I still hate you…” Rimmer murmured. He turned his nose into Lister's skin contentedly. Despite his apprehension, it was very cosy. The lager and exercise had him woozy and stupid. “I still just don’t get…" His voice trailed off, just a little distorted by his face pressed into the leg. It made him sound small and whiny. "Just today you called me a petty-minded, anal-retentive, bureaucratic tosspot. Are you masochistic? Tosspot fetish?”

Lister raked a few curls away from Rimmer's forehead to get a better look at his eyes. He frowned a little, thumbing the H gently, and heaved a sigh.

“Well, as petty-minded, anal-retentive, bureaucratic tosspots go, you're a bit of a babe. Aaaannd…” he bobbed his head side to side as if deciding. “Sometimes, rarely, you can be halfway decent. Halfway.”

"Hmm, you're such a tart." Rimmer scolded, sounding sleepy and drunk.

Lister snorted but didn’t respond.

The hologram scooted his bottle away with his fingertips, feeling very done with it. It was possible Lister had gotten him drunk just to have sex. That would make sense. More than him just being nice did. 

Git. 

Soft, warm git.

"Oh, 'ey!" Chirped Lister, retrieving something just out of sight, holding it aloft like a trophy. With disgust, Rimmer recognized the now mangled Toffee Crispy half, floor fluff smushed into the melty outside. 

"NO." He gawped incredulously. 

"Steady on, man. You can still have the other half."

Lister picked a couple hairs off the chocolate and took a big bite. A few crumbs hit Rimmer's cheek and he dry heaved. 

"You complete and total-" The hologram covered his mouth, looking peaky. “ _I'm going to be sick."_

As Lister crunched happily, his other hand still running through the curls, a look of confusion abruptly swept across his face.

_"Hang on a minute._ What was that about space weevils earlier?"

...

“This is smegging _boring.”_ Lister said, tinkering with a nondescript piece of communications equipment. “It’s supposed to be poker night.”

“Got a new set of marked cards you're itching to try out?” Rimmer quipped, not looking up. He was doing his best to focus on a book of historical campaigns, but generally found himself just skimming the illustrations. 

They'd been taking shifts in the cockpit as they passed through a long stretch of dangerous GELF space, making it impossible to get together all four crewmembers for any kind of games night. Cat was on duty, curled up in the pilot’s seat with his manicure set, and Kryten was fussing about in the galley, leaving the two men to making the least of their freetime in the midsection. 

Lister threw down his screwdriver and rolled his eyes. “Smeg this. I’ll be in the A/R machine.” 

Rimmer grimaced. He knew exactly what Lister always did in the A/R machine, no matter how much the scouser denied it. Ramping up a rude remark, instead an idea came to mind, giving him pause. 

Rimmer hadn't touched the Starbug A/R machine before the Armageddon Virus. They made him uneasy, TIVs. He didn't have the best track record with them. He had thought about using it for a liaison or two, but the idea of tonguing, groping, and grinding the air like Lister was too humiliating. He actually had _some_ shame. 

So, he dismissed it as childish. There were more exciting things to do, like log books, inventory, and making sure all chairs onboard were set to the exact regulation height of 48cm. With vital duties like that, silly games were a waste of his time.

But, _Lister_ liked A/R.

“Ah, hold a tick, Lister.” Rimmer set down the heavy tome timidly. “If it’s poker night you’re after, we could pick up a game in Streets of Laredo?”

Rimmer liked the Laredo characters. He liked the long duster and how he felt powerful and confident. He liked doing the voice. He liked the way Brett looked in dark black leather, head to toe. It was mostly the last part he had in mind. 

Lister, already halfway up the metal staircase, pivoted and examined the hologram. A tight ache gripped Rimmer in the chest, suddenly uncertain. Putting all his effort into keeping a straight, disinterested face, he screamed silently to himself that he shouldn’t have seemed so keen.

Rimmer didn't really understand how he felt about Lister. He knew he hated his grotty attire with the smell that would make a buzzard blush, his joyful insolence delivered with a cretinous grin, his irrepressible lack of proper work ethic, the way he always senselessly barreled into ludicrous situations to risk his spuds for some misguided sense of ethics, and his lack of a sensible haircut. Rimmer also knew he had been sporting inappropriate stiffies every time the scouser walked in. This was usually quickly cured by the smell of toxic morning breath, or dribbles of curried chicken tumbling down the front of the crusty boilersuit, or when Lister took a moment to pluck his nostrils rather extra thoroughly. A minor inconvenience at worst. But troubling.

“Yeah, alright.” Lister shrugged. “Alright, could do with a drink too. Krytes, d’you want to come?” 

The mechanoid chuckled appreciatively from the doorway, “No thank you, Mr. Lister, sir. All a bit too _frivolous_ for me. Besides, that vindaloo you spilled while inventing ‘slap boxing’ with Mr. Cat is deeply embedded in the grout and I simply _can't_ tear myself away from a good deck scrubbing."

In the A/R room, Rimmer helped himself to the Dangerous Dan McGrew character again, feeling a bit sentimental. He felt a happy tingle in his stomach to see Lister went for Brett Riverboat again.

They rode into Laredo, each astride a steed that they didn't know how to control, yet which perfectly bent to their wishes anyway. The evening sun lay low on the horizon and the area seemed calm, quiet. It must have been autumn in the sleepy border town as the wind managed to carry a slight chill across the rugged landscape.

Arriving at the Malamute saloon, they didn't bother to hitch the obedient geldings, leaving them loitering contentedly by the porch. Rimmer enjoyed the dramatic swish of his long coat as he dismounted and immediately adopted an affected swagger. 

As they stepped out into the dusty street, Rimmer noticed a young man sprawled in the dirt. His clothes were crisp but stained from his fall, as was his shaven face. A drunkard, the hologram surmised, he'd had too much and couldn't drag himself home before blacking out. He wasn't moving and none of the passersby seemed to pay him any mind, but he'd been wrapped in a white linen someone had been thoughtful enough to provide. Sparing only a momentary sneer, Rimmer moved on.

"I see by your outfit, that you are a cowboy." The young man croaked weakly.

Rimmer started, not expecting the boozer to be conscious. Checking his surroundings to be certain, he accepted the comment was directed at him.

"Ahhh, no… insurance salesman." He said dismissively. "I get that all the time though. Must be the hat."

"Come, sit down beside me and hear my sad story." The man said pitifully, reaching out. As he shifted, Rimmer noticed crimson red staining the loosely wrapped linen. "For I'm shot in the chest, and today I must die."

_"Oh damn,_ not able to fit this one in! Busy schedule after all. But it sounds lovely, so rain check?" He smiled but didn't wait for a response. "Marvellous."

Rimmer hustled to catch up to Lister, who was already pushing through the swing doors. The saloon was dark and dingy, lit by lamplight along the wooden walls. It was small, but well-packed, several tables occupied by various ruffians, degenerates, and one femme fatale appearing extremely out of place. A ratty looking kid was banging out a stereotypical jag-time tune on the piano. Most of the patrons ignored them, but a few aggressive eyes rose at their entrance and didn't fall.

"Evenin' ma'am" Lister said smoothly, tipping his hat at the woman behind the bar. Her's had been one of the sets of eyes unapologetically locked onto the two strangers. 

"What's your poison, sweetheart?" She asked flatly, clearly not thrilled to see them. She was pleasantly plump and rosy-faced, but her voice was gruff with years of smoking and the thick hands that gripped the bartop were calloused with hard pioneer living.

Lister grinned over his shoulder at Rimmer, "Whiskey, neat?"

"God, no." Rimmer said warily. "Don't they have _anything_ else in this worthless century?"

The bartender spit on the floor casually. "Got a homebrew ale. Tastes like the devil, but that purge is guaranteed to get a bear swacked.”

"Two." Lister placed a couple coins on the bar. The woman slid them into her apron pocket and proceeded to wipe out a couple of grimy mugs. 

Sidling up to the bar, Lister scanned the room. Nudging Rimmer, he murmured in a low voice, "Looks like a table in the back with our names on it." 

Three men sat near the wall, dealing out a card game. They looked gruff and unneighborly and, upon closer inspection, were recognizable characters that had been lifted into Kryten’s dream. The out-of-place woman in her red and black frills stood hovering and whispering encouragement in the ear of Jimmy while his brutish friends laughed and smoked. Rimmer, feeling emboldened by his special powers, gave Lister a raised eyebrow in agreement. 

The bartender slid the beers between their elbows with an inelegant snort. 

"Hey," She said, wagging a finger at the two, "Y'all look like you're mighty quick with a shootin' iron. Sheriff's been looking for a posse to clear bandits out of-"

"Not interested." Rimmer interjected briskly, grabbing his drink and turning away before he could get roped in further.

"Ah, not tonight, ma'am." Lister said sheepishly, trying to placate the now scowling NPC. He slid another coin in her direction.

Rimmer sniffed and cracked his neck as he approached the gruff card players with bravado. He strode up, sat down, and slapped a stack of cash in the pot.

“Deal us in.” He grunted in his best man-with-no-name voice.

The men stared, surprised silent by the audacity. Lister rubbed his eye and readied a hand over his knife. 

Leaning closer, the burliest man said calmly, “Put in another five, and I won’t shoot you where you sit.” He was near as wide as he was tall and stunk like a barn. A nasty grin revealed a shining silver tooth.

His hot breath hitting Rimmer’s nose was enough to intimidate the hologram into regret.

“Beg pardon, chaps.” He scooted back from the table with an ingratiating smile. “I can see now this is a private get together, I’ll see myself out.”

“Now, Nuke, don’t be so impolite.” Jimmy waved a hand in their direction, clearly not bothered. He was cool and collected in a way the others weren’t as he set his cigar down to speak. Nuke seemed to defer to him, settling himself back. 

“If these _fancy boys_ want to get taken for all they’re worth, far be it from us to not be accommodatin’.” He gestured toward Lister. “Sit. Name’s Jimmy. This here’s Nuke, Frank, and my light-o'-love, Lou.”

The pretty brunette smiled with condescension, sizing them up. Her dress was flashy by the standards of the room, as was the hat with one enormous feather pinned to her bouffant.

Lister seemed satisfied with this, introducing himself as Brett, so Rimmer adjusted himself to try and regain the bold posture. He just had to remember he was _Dangerous_ Dan McGrew. He was a rough-necked, take-no-shit hombre. No one stood a chance against his fists if it came to it.

The group seemed to warm to them quickly, especially after they bought a round and managed to lose a few hands of hold ‘em while betting high. Rimmer and Lister learned a few new expletives too from winning. The A/R sprites weren't great conversationalists, steering the subject back to side quests more often than not, but their AI was damn good at poker.

“You cowpoke?” Frank sniffed, pushing his call into the pot. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he hadn’t had anything but whiskey in his belly for days. His comical little mustache twitched when he bluffed. “Ain’t no cattle work here, so if you’re lookin’, you best keep movin’.”

Nuke hopped in with an angry huff, folding. “Half the town’s in the gutter with that oil tycoon driving the ranchers off ‘a their land. Good folk too. Someone ought to settle his hash.”

“How terrible.” Rimmer said, flippant. He had two aces and wasn’t interested in much else. “Raise.” 

Behind them, a weather-worn miner stumbled in the door with a loud clatter. He was obviously already loaded, his buckskin dog-dirty and walking as if he was half dead. The crowd of drinkers glanced up in contempt but chose to ignore him.

Jimmy eyeballed Rimmer, looking for a tell. “Mighty good pay comin’ to whoever brings down the tycoon.” He said, calling the raise.

Lister was expressionless, the perfect poker face. He studied the others hard before folding and pulling out a knife to clean his fingernails. “We’re just passing through.” 

"Dag nab it, dern it, and gol darn it." Frank grumbled and folded. He begrudgingly dealt the river card. 

At the bar there was a commotion, the miner having dumped a bag of something in front of the plump lady. They couldn’t quite catch what was going on, but then the bearded beast turned around and bellowed, “Drinks for the house!”

A cheer and a whoop went up among the townsfolk as the bartender began to hurriedly distribute beers to the crowd. Rimmer found one shoved into his hands by someone who passed by too quickly to acknowledge. It was the same swill as before. 

“‘ey, who’s this Johnny?”

Looking at Lister he saw the scouser had moved on to picking his teeth with the knife.

“Don’t know.” Rimmer wrinkled his nose. “But he’s more bladdered than a wino with yellow sticker chardonnay.”

Interestingly enough, the miner took no drink himself, looking dreary and despondent. Seeing the rag-time kid was away from his stool, the man merely lumbered over to the piano, flopping down clumsily. He swayed so much Rimmer thought he might topple over, but he righted himself and began to play.

_“Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear…”_

Godawful racket. Rimmer sighed with annoyance, concerned that his good hand was going to waste in the clamor, and tried to resume the game. 

Jimmy sat unswayed in the corner, keeping a hawk-eye on the hologram. 

The river card had been an ace. Full house. Rimmer had a hard time squeezing his excitement down. Noticing his hand was shaking, he quickly stored it in his lap where his right leg also jiggled.

“All in.” He said, channeling McGrew with as straight a face as he could muster. He shoved the rest of his stack of cash to the middle.

Jimmy narrowed his eyes but didn’t stir. 

“Don’t tell me you’re yella’?” Rimmer said, leaning over the table. He felt invincible. Lister snorted, trying to repress a laugh. Jimmy didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting, only silently pushing his own stack in. 

Rimmer could barely contain himself with the smug glory. He flipped over his pocket aces with all the enthusiasm of a puppy discovering it can lick its own testicles for the first time.

When Jimmy placed a paired 2 and 4 on the table, the hologram couldn’t help but grin in joy.

“A _2 and a 4??_ What kind of gimboid plays a hand like that??” He snickered. 

Lou, watching their luck intently, hadn’t said a word all night, but at this comment she giggled. “You might look closer, partner.”

“It’s a straight flush, _Dan.”_ Lister said softly, struggling to keep from busting out in giggles himself. “He caught it on the flop.”

Rimmer’s face dropped. _“Ah.”_ He went stiff, repressing the welling rage in his stomach. “Those spades and clubs…” He said through his teeth, “Look so similar. Easy to miss.”

The three men rumbled with chuckles, Jimmy sweeping the pot to himself.

“Tough break, greenhorn. Better luck next time.”

“Yes, well, you cheat, I’m happy for you.” Rimmer spat, losing his patience. “Maybe now you can finally afford to treat your clinical case of knob face.“

Chairs were tossed aside and the men were on their feet, hands at their holsters. The saloon went dead silent, all heads turned towards the excitement. The filthy miner abruptly ended his playing and stood to get a better view. 

Jimmy glared, his voice now deep and threatening. “Son, you’re just gettin’ through life on a lick and a promise ain't you? You don’t seem to see the danger you’re in.”

Rimmer fixed him with a cold stare. “Danger is my middle name.” He paused. “...Actually my first name. Actually, it’s ‘Dangerous,’ but you get the picture.”

Everyone was still, save the miner who strode slowly across the room, seemingly oblivious to the heavy tension that hung in the air. He stepped between the two, clearing his throat. Only then, standing straight, was it evident he was a head taller than anyone else there, towering over them with a frigid, imposing presence. Nervously, the men side-eyed the beast.

At last, the man grinned and said calmly, "Boys, you don't know me, and none of you care a damn. But one of you is a hound of hell . . .” His crazed eyes settled on Rimmer. “...and that one is Dan McGrew."

“Smeg.” Rimmer grimaced. 

Lister rolled his eyes, shooting his companion a nasty look. “Some smegging poker night Rimmer, cheers.”

“I have a bone to pick,” The miner moved closer in to the hologram, his stench drifting over them. “With the man who touched my sweetheart, Lou.”

The brunette pipped up belligerently, “I ain’t done nothin’ with no Dan McGrew.” She could have sounded a titch less disgusted. 

Rimmer gawped, entering peak angry falsetto mode. “I don’t even know her. Or you, for that matter, _miladdo._ He’s the one over there she’s been hanging off of all night.” He pointed accusatorily at Jimmy.

“Nice try, McGrew.” The miner grumbled. He moved his gaze down to the full mug on the edge of the table. “You ain't touched your beer. Man buys you a beer, you best drink it.”

“Not thirsty.”

“Shame. Man ought to have a drink before he dies.”

Lister reluctantly decided to take pity on the idiots and step in, throwing his shoulders back. He took a moment to study the great, hairy face, composed and unperturbed. They stared each other down, taking stock of their opponent’s intestinal fortitude. 

“You look like a reasonable man.” The scouser finally growled. “McGrew didn’t touch your sweetie. He’s with me. Why don’t we part ways before someone makes a _real_ mistake.”

The miner considered this carefully. Slowly, he replied, "Then he done us both wrong, partner.” He moved closer to Lister, pulling his revolver free from the holster. “You ready to die for that kinda buzzard?"

Rage boiled up in Rimmer, his fist twitching and his nostrils flared. A twinge of something went off in his chest.

“Oh piss off, will you?” He pushed forward, landing a sucker punch on the miner’s left jaw. A few exclamations of shock came out of the onlookers.

The bear of a man staggered back. When he’d collected his senses, he raised his gun but was cut short by a blow to his gut followed by a well-placed uppercut. He fell hard against the wooden floor, scattering the patrons behind him.

Surveying his work, the hologram looked terribly pleased with himself.

_“Yeah!”_ Lister laughed, “There’s the ‘bare fist fighter extraordinaire!’” He pushed on Rimmer’s shoulder gleefully. “I've seen you start fights, but I've never seen you finish one.”

“I think you’re forgettin’ something.” Jimmy snarled. His six-shooter was trained on Rimmer’s heart, along with Frank and Nuke. “First you call me a cheat. Now I hear you been gettin’ around with Lou. We don't like bastards like you in town, do we boys?” The cronies grumbled their agreement.

“You’re kidding?” Rimmer scoffed. “Even if it were true, it’s all a bit _sexist,_ coming after me, don’t you think?”

A shot rang out, bullet whizzing by Rimmer’s ear. In a blind panic, he groped for Lister who pulled him behind a table, upturning it while more shots plinked into the wall beyond them. The patrons were clearing out of the saloon fast, shouting over the chaos.

Rimmer hyperventilated, looking around for an escape route. Fists were all well and good until you brought them to a gunfight. Lister shook him in reassurance. “'Ey, Brett Riverboat’s got this one.” He said, producing knives from God-knows-where. He dove out from cover, launching them forward all at once.

One, two, three, his knives knocked the guns out of the men’s hands. Just to add insult, Lister aimed three more, sending each man’s hat flying away in turn. Humiliated, they froze, unsure of what to do next.

An unexpected gunshot caught Rimmer by surprise, not from Jimmy and his gang but from the back corner. They turned just in time to see the mysterious miner, gun drawn, clutching at his chest. Shock etched on his face, he lurched forward, falling again and for the last time. Behind him, holding a neat little Smith & Wesson still smoking at the tip, was the lady known as Lou. She cocked the gun again and fixed it on Jimmy.

“This ain’t over.” Jimmy spat, shaking with fury. The three hotfooted it out of the saloon, making a hasty getaway. 

"Gentlemen." Rimmer nodded to them politely on the way out. 

Lowering her weapon, Lou rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. She didn't look like a woman who had just shot her lover. She looked like someone who'd just stepped on a spider. "They’re gonna be back with more men. Y’all better skedaddle.” 

Peering out the front window, Rimmer spotted the gang collecting a group of men on the far side of the street. They were shouting and pointing. "Too late. We've got company coming fast."

Lister swung around, looking for the bartender. She was wiping up behind the counter, completely unbothered. 

“You rentin’ rooms, ma’am?”

"Depends." She grunted. 

"Erm, for the mess." Lister shoved a fistful of dollars at her. 

She glared with disdain at the money but it did the trick. "Upstairs, first left." 

"Much obliged." He thanked her. He paused then passed another bill over. "And for a bottle." Snagging an abandoned fifth of whiskey, he followed Rimmer's urgent goading towards the stairway. 

On their way up, glancing back, they spotted Lou clutching the miner to her breast. The woman's dainty hands were pulling the gold out of his pockets and storing it in her own.

The lodging was cramped but cosy. Dark wood walls and furniture lined the narrow room and various kitschy paintings of roosters and cornflowers and the like hung on the walls. 

"Unbelievable." Rimmer groused locking the rickety door. "Unbe-smegging-lievable."

"It's fine, man, it's just a game." Lister said. He flopped onto the austere bed, and took a pull of the bourbon. The straw mattress was barely wide enough for one and was covered in a knit blanket in red that the scouser fiddled with between his thumb and forefinger.

"It was meant to be poker night." The hologram took a peek out the lone window overlooking Laredo. Angry men were piling in the front doorway, looking for a fight. "That great lummox had to go and cock up a perfectly nice evening.”

“Yeah, things were going so well before. I think they were about to invite us ‘round for tea.”

“I had it handled.” Rimmer pulled the curtain and sat miserably on the window sill. “Now what? Do we just exit? Not sure I fancy a full blown shootout.”

“What, and go back to being sober?” Lister swigged again straight from the bottle. “I came here to get bevvied up and play poker, might as well do one.” He tossed his hat aside, getting comfortable, unconcerned where it landed.

Rimmer huffed. He peeled back the corner of the curtain again to see if he could catch sight of anyone. When nothing happened, he slid his gaze back over to his bunkmate. 

The scouser was sprawled haphazardly, knee up and head back. Rimmer had a good view of his waistline where the jacket fell away from it. 

If they really were safe up here, there'd never be a more perfect chance to sleep with Lister. He was already in bed for smeg's sake. If Rimmer was honest, he really wished Lister would have thought of it first and spared him the trouble. He just wasn't so good at these sorts of things. 

He pulled the heavy duster off, letting it rest on the back of a chair. 

There was one thing he was good at that he could think of. Okay at, anyway. He could try that.

Concentrating on Lister's pupils, Rimmer squared himself up, gazing intently. He let his eyes go wide and pursed his lips into a tight line. It was only a few seconds in before the scouser turned and looked back with a severely off-put frown.

Stricken, Rimmer broke eye contact, swiveling his head as casually as he could fake, trying to hide the embarrassment.

"Did you just try to hypnotise me?" Lister's brow went up. 

"No, of course not."

"That was the smegging mesmer stare."

Rimmer laughed uncomfortably. "No it wasn't."

"Yes it very well smegging was!" Lister sat up on his elbow to get a better look at the hologram. “Rimmer, your mesmer stare looks like a serial killer got his tackle stuck in his zip and liked it. It’s hard to miss.”

“I told you, it wasn’t that.” Rimmer looked out the window again anxiously, pretending to put all of his attention on the important task.

“You know you can _ask_ for sex. Like an adult.”

“Not in the mood, actually.” Rimmer’s voice went up an octave. He could feel his cheeks getting hotter and his heart was tight and achy. He was mostly not in the mood to be made fun of.

He heard the creak as Lister rolled off of the bed. He did his best to ignore it, but the scouser came close, leaning over him, forearm resting against the wall.

“Lister…” He started with annoyance.

“Brett Riverboat’s had a long, lonely day out on the prairie.” Lister purred, sliding his hand down the front of Rimmer’s chest, into his waistcoat. 

Rimmer clinched his jaw shut tight. The scouser’s hand came back up to play with his bow tie. “Mighty cold night. Be nice to have someone to keep his bed warm.” He tugged slowly and the tie unraveled like the bow on a gift.

_"This_ is 'like an adult'?" Shifting uncomfortably, Rimmer could feel himself rising at half-mast in the infuriatingly tight trousers. Still, he didn’t want to seem too eager and prove Lister right.

Lister began the slow and agonizing work of undoing buttons down the double-breasted waistcoat. His mouth found its way to Rimmer’s neck, peppering wet, lazy kisses along the flushed pink skin. Each one ended with a suck as he nuzzled the little curls at Rimmer's nape. The hologram’s eyes fluttered shut and he held his breath.

“Mmm. Dangerous.” The scouser purred against his jaw, brushing his lips against the stubble. “I want to make you come.” 

All of Rimmer’s energy went to holding still, stubbornly resolved to not give in yet. His stomach was a flurry of butterflies and his focus began to waver. He remembered he had a point to make, but couldn’t quite remember what that was.

Waistcoat now free, Lister dipped his hand down low and hooked two fingers through Rimmer’s belt loop. He let his hot breath land in the hologram’s ear. With a quick yank, he drew the trousers taut. "Would you like a wormdo?” He whispered, followed by a gentle bite to the lobe.

That was Rimmer’s breaking point. A pained moan escaped him, hoarse and lingering. He snatched a handful of Lister’s bandana, reeling him in as if he wanted to be anywhere else. He found the scouser’s mischievous mouth ready for him and their lips met in a crushing collision.

Their exploring tongues swept over each other, forging deep. Rimmer had the compulsion to _have_ every bit of his bunkmate that he could. To taste all of him, touch every part of him, to breathe him in and hear the soft sounds of pleasure when he did. He wanted to take, to suck, thrust, and claim each beautiful bit of the warm body as his own. Screw looking too eager.

Lister's gloved palm smoothed over Rimmer's thigh to his crotch, finding the outline of his hard-on pushing out on the cotton. His fingers closed around the shape, holding it firmly. A pleading whimper dropped out of the hologram. 

Rimmer found himself bundled into the crook of Lister’s arm, being pulled up. A gentle hand pulled his grip loose and he let his fingers curl together with his bunkmate’s. Successful, smug, and grinning like a cheeky gerbil, the scouser dragged him into bed.

Layers, too many layers. All the wonderful leather and cloth that seemed so tantalizing before was now a burden standing between Rimmer and what he needed. He let his weight sink onto his bunkmate, the torment of their hips grinding together goading him on as he pushed and pulled at the damnable layers.

Lister interrupted the hologram's concentration with feverish kisses, tugging off any clothes he could reach on him as well. His fingers skimmed the smooth, pale chest when he at last revealed it, a wolfish, hungry look on his face.

Rimmer wiggled his bunkmate’s trousers down over the lean curve of his thigh, letting the rigid erection slide out. He couldn’t help but admire it. It was becoming an obsession for him, thinking about the thick cock, how its weight felt in his palm and pressed tightly up against his own hard-on. It bothered him constantly, nagging at the edge of his mind when he tried to concentrate or sleep. With pure visceral joy, he gave it a slow pump. It stood proud, glistening at the end as Lister sighed, arching his back. 

They kicked and shuffled to undress, determined to share their bodies fully. Stripped bare at last, they twisted together, wrapping leg over leg, fingers dimpling each other’s skin. Rimmer nuzzled his face into Lister’s neck, bucking against him haltingly, basking in the delectable way the two cocks slid along one another. Both men panted lightly with the effort.

Lister landed a kiss on the hologram’s collarbone, and held his trembling hips still, guiding him to create a steadier pace. Rimmer cried out at the shift, clutching his bunkmate close. The intensity of the hot skin rubbing on his own sent fireworks up his spine. He thrust back again, harder, faster. They fought for dominance, though he really didn’t give a damn who won either way. With each stroke, he could feel how much more Lister needed him.

Something in Rimmer worried it was too much already, but another part of him didn’t care in the least. He flattened his palm in the dip of Lister’s back, feeling the muscles flex as they repeatedly pushed forward. Savoring, the hologram took a deep breath in through his nose. By the time he let it come shuttering out through his mouth, his climax was taking him over. Shoving his forehead into Lister's shoulder, a muted whine came from the back of his throat. The sticky mess hit their stomachs where they pressed together, wrenching out of him in waves. 

Spent, but not for long, Rimmer’s dick twitched where it lay against his bunkmate’s. Still rubbing, now relaxing into a lazy rhythm, Rimmer realised something felt different. Peeling himself back, he touched the wet spot gingerly. 

“Ugh. A/R machine." He scrunched up his nose. Come was just easier to deal with as a hologram.

Lister giggled at Rimmer's discomfort and smeared the goo up his chest, making him thrash with nasally objections. The hologram pushed away, staring at himself in disgust. With a grin, Lister drew a path with his tongue from Rimmer's navel to his nipple, licking the offending mess and ending with a consoling kiss. He then chivalrously tried to wipe up with the blanket, which his bunkmate reluctantly allowed with very few grumbles.

As Rimmer let him work, he recalled something he’d forgotten to do before. Reaching out, he fanned his fingers to roam Lister’s stomach, feeling the way it curved into his hips. He traced his thumb down the crease, landing in wiry black curls. Awe-struck still that he was even allowed to touch his bunkmate, the hologram rolled on top of him and pressed broad, flat licks to the subtle V-line. Lister moaned deep and wanting, arching to press into his tongue. 

Rimmer wanted to make him make other noises like that. Very much indeed.

He hovered uncertainly, feeling greedy and cowardly in equal doses. He’d never sucked a cock before, but he knew he wanted it in his mouth. Flicking his hazel eyes upward, he caught Lister looking down at him with hopeful anticipation. Using one hand, the scouser tilted the massive erection toward Rimmer until the tip delicately brushed his bottom lip.

Rimmer swallowed hard, preparing himself. Before he could chicken out, he brought the head between his lips. The musky, salty taste of skin and precome spread across his tongue in a way entirely new to him. If holding the sizable cock in his hand had felt wonderful, having its fullness fill his mouth was bliss. It wasn’t exactly beginner’s sized. He was afraid he’d gag, so he didn’t go deep, tentatively sucking what he could fit. 

“Smeg, _yes,_ Rimmer.” Lister groaned, petting his hand through the brown curls.

Rimmer put one hand at the base of the massive shaft and after a moment’s consideration began to pump it in and out. He didn’t know how far was safe before he’d choke, but he edged down anyway, craving more. There wasn’t enough room for it all, and the hologram’s jaw began to ache as he bobbed. It was worth it, the soreness reminding him of the delightful girth that got him so hot, and soon Lister made more of the sweet moans Rimmer craved from him. 

Displeased with the coverage his mouth was getting and feeling bolder, Rimmer added sloppy licks and sucks to the sides, getting every bit of the length wet and slippery. 

His semi was swelling back to life against his thigh, sparking renewed urgency in his movement. Lost in the moment, he was surprised when Lister sat up to pause him. The scouser’s thumb pushed its way into Rimmer’s mouth, rubbing his tongue and wet bottom lip.

“Can I fuck your mouth?” He whispered. 

“...Yes.” Rimmer breathed, not _entirely_ certain what that entailed. He could have a guess though.

Lister directed him to sit up against the headboard, which he did obediently. The scouser swung his leg over Rimmer, straddling him, the massive cock swaying dauntingly in front of the hologram’s nose. Grinning, Lister plopped the discarded cowboy hat back on his bunkmate’s head. Rimmer scoffed at its addition but said nothing. 

“Feeling brave, Dangerous?” Lister winked, guiding himself back to his partner’s mouth. Rimmer didn’t answer but he opened enough to allow him in.

This was immediately very different. Lister invaded his mouth in slow, short strokes, steadying himself on the headboard. Each thrust made Rimmer feel helpless in a way that was thrilling, making his heartbeat pound harder in his chest. He closed his eyes and let the sensation take him. 

Rimmer's hand found his own revived hard-on, jerking in time with the cock he was sucking. Brow knit together in joy, he moaned his approval. His other hand had a firm grip on Lister's calf, digging his fingernails in lightly, holding on.

"Look at you, you're so smeggin' gorgeous." Lister murmured.

The hat didn't have much chance staying on as the brim bumped against the wall. It sagged sideways off of Rimmer's gelled curls, slipping further with each stroke. 

Rimmer lifted his arse as he touched himself, pushing into his own fist. The cock was gentle but insistent and thick enough to make his jaw burn nevertheless.

"Your mouth is so smegging good." The scouser gasped, his voice low and desperate. 

He seemed to be losing himself, bending further down around his bunkmate with each passing moment. His locks swung off his shoulders framing his chest as he heaved. Recklessly, he delved deeper than Rimmer had dared, tickling the back of the hologram's tongue. 

Rimmer hummed his pleasure again, taking the treatment with relish. 

Lister's abs tensed, doubling him over. “Oh, smeg, Rimmer, I’m going to come! _I’m going to come!"_

Rimmer swiftly realised he had no plan. He had to decide fast. The notion that a _proper_ fellatio should end with swallowing was all his brain delivered. 

Before he could waffle on it, he took a hot jet of come to his tongue and throat. Gagging at the unfamiliar taste, he released the hard-on. This was perhaps not much better because it resulted in the next spasm splashing onto his nose and cheek as Lister pulled away.

"Hey, hey, you okay, Rimmer, man?" Concerned brown eyes search his face. "I'm sorry." 

Rimmer whimpered, a confusing orgasm hitting him. He closed his eyes to ride it out, weirdly ashamed at what a shambles he'd become. His back slid down the bed further, knocking the hat off on a pillow then to the floor. 

When he dared to open his eyes again, Lister was waiting patiently, staring. 

"Sooooo… alright first blowjob?" 

Rimmer snorted. Drips ran down his neck and he couldn't get the taste out of his mouth. His torso had an odd combination of dried and fresh come all over it. 

“I feel like a stale glazed donut.” He concluded. "This is disgusting."

Lister retrieved a metal wash basin from an old wooden bureau and Rimmer buried his face thankfully into a cold, wet towel. 

The scouser busied himself with the whiskey again looking behind the curtain briefly. There must have been nothing of interest because he came back to flop on the bed, making Rimmer bounce and spill some of the water. 

"Watch it!" Rimmer groused. 

"’Ey, that's a bad mood for someone who I just took to the brink of ecstasy _twice."_ Lister took an obnoxiously big swig.

Rimmer sighed in annoyance, setting aside the wash basin. The scouser embraced him from behind before he could go anywhere, pulling him into a tight spoon. Rimmer toyed with the idea of being petulant, but he had to admit he felt euphorically good, so he let himself melt peacefully into the hug. 

"You are okay, yeah?" Lister asked again. 

"I'm fine." 

"Did you… like the last bit?" 

Rimmer blushed red, glad his bunkmate couldn't see.

"Yes." He said bluntly. 

This seemed to shut up Lister for a while. Rimmer felt himself starting to drift off.

"Rimmer. Was this meant to be a date?"

Every muscle in Rimmer's body tensed into a hard knot.

"Rimmer, did you ask me on a date?" Lister asked again, more insistently. 

"This is not a date." Rimmer grumbled. 

"You have done!"

"This is not a date!"

"Oh god _this is_ a date." Lister rolled over, breaking their contact. He rubbed his forehead hard.

"This is not a date!"

"I'm not your girlfriend Rimmer!"

"I'm telling you, Lister, this is not a date!!"

_"Oh God, I just went on a date with smegging Rimmer."_ Lister covered his eyes with a groan.

"For the last time, this is not a date!!!!" Rimmer was upright now gesturing angrily. "I _merely_ asked you to come with me to a bar for a few drinks and a game and we just so happened to have se- oh God it _is_ a date."

Mouth opening and closing stupidly, Rimmer tried to work up an excuse, some way to shift the blame. In the end all that came out was, "Okay well… it wasn't _meant_ to be a date…"

"That's for goddamn sure."

This made Rimmer bristle. "Don’t look at me! You're the one who grabbed my package like a deranged postman.”

"… this is getting weird. You made it weird."

"How did I make it _weird?_ Name one thing!"

"This."

"Okay, name another."

"Rimmer, I will list them all in alphabetical order and have it notarized if it'll get you to shut up."

There was a loud crash at the door, making them jump, and then another as it came swinging open. Rimmer instinctively tried to cover his more private personal bits. Meanwhile, the men at the door had opened fire, raining bullets through the room.

"Smeg!" Lister cursed, clapping. Rimmer soon followed. Shaken, the two silently removed their headsets, gloves, and well-worn groinal attachments, appetite for further discussion lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last story is inspired by the poem “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” (with some obvious changes) and there’s a reference as well to the song, “Streets of Laredo.” I also drew some flavor from old Clint Eastwood films and Westerado, which is an exceptionally amazing game if you haven’t played before. 
> 
> Special thanks to the great people on the Discord for always fielding my weird questions and always being so kind and inspiring.


	7. Series 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty tame chapter for CWs. Minor crossdressing. Death.
> 
> Check new tags if you feel the need.

Rimmerworld ruined everything.

And now, just when Rimmer felt he was maybe possibly close to saying that he really had the hang of things again, it all had to get a lot more complicated. The situation was about as winnable as a fairground game of ring toss and he was half as likely to get any kind of prize at the end. 

It really was absurdly unfair.

He felt like breaking down into a quivering blob of jelly and enjoying a proper panic attack with a healthy hint of self-pity to add spice. The main issue, however, was he didn't want to weep in front of this computer that didn’t yet know just how terrifically he was going to cock all this up.

“Just say something, Ace.” Wildfire’s computer cooed soothingly. She had comforted trillions of freshly recruited Arnold J. Rimmers in her tenure, half of them as whiny and spineless as this one, which she was upsettingly quick to point out. “It will make you feel better.”

“I absolutely can’t!” Rimmer curled in the seat, hunching his shoulders over his knees like a moping child. “Look. It’s not that I’m  _ not  _ keen to go, it’s just that I have responsibilities here. Have you  _ seen  _ this crew?  _ They need me. _ One week alone and they’ll be flying backwards into a supernova with their thumbs up their arses. They won’t last! Couldn’t you just power up your jumpy thingy and find another Rimmer?”

“The dimension drive jumps between instances of  _ you, Ace.  _ No you, no jump.”

“Stop calling me that.” Rimmer fidgeted with his wig nervously. He didn’t like the way the hair kept falling across his vision. “So… I’ll come with, find an Ace, you two drop me off on the way back, Bob’s your uncle. Everyone gets what they want!”

Wildfire’s computer paused a moment before breaking it to him gently. “It’s a one-way trip, Ace. Once you leave your home dimension, there’s no  _ you  _ to jump back to. Ever.”

Rimmer slumped back in the cramped cockpit, rubbing his face in despair. The soft hum of the ship’s interior would have been comforting if it didn’t seem so ominous. He launched a sour look at the console before conceding.

“Oh, yes, alright. Alright. I’ll say my stupid smeggy goodbyes and go off to live every Rimmer’s dream of being hunky and heroic and having all sorts of sex and generally being a complete bellend about it.”

“Trillions, Ace.” The computer reminded him firmly, agitation starting to show around the edges of her sweet tone. “You’ve waited long enough. It’s time.

Rimmer briefly thought about calling her a few choice names but choked it back. If this was going to be his only companion for the rest of his life, he should probably try to suck up a bit.

Still grousing to himself, Rimmer crawled down the side of the ship, losing his footing halfway and skidding to the docking bay floor with a solid thunk. The stupid thing had no footholds. Dusting himself off in a vain attempt to regain what micron of dignity he had left, the hologram made his way back toward the midsection. 

Rimmer knew he was crap at goodbyes. Especially goodbye-forevers, and not to mention goodbye-forevers whilst pretending to be Commander Ace Rimmer, transdimensional pretty boy, and actually not particularly wanting to leave, actually. Still, even he had to admit hanging about so long was beginning to look strange.

He didn’t exactly enjoy the stress of playacting around the crew, but it felt so very safe on Starbug and that was difficult to tear away from. Safe, familiar faces to snark at with a safe, familiar routine. As soon as he left, he’d never see that routine again and instead of paperwork and shouting he’d need to strap on a pair of big ones and prove himself. Which he already knew could only end in disaster. A tragedy of hubris the likes of which would not be out of place nestled in history books between Chernobyl and the Hindenburg.

But the decision had been made. He’d never pass the exams and make officer. Never see his mangled Javanese camphor-wood chest again. Never make amends with Lister. 

The visual of the scouser’s sheer disappointment in him from that day was seared into his memory files like a brand. After Rimmerworld, Rimmer had expected Lister to go off on one — in fact, he’d had about 600 years of restless nights to imagine the extraordinary dressing down he was in for. Lister would gloat and laugh and tease him about his smeggy little failed planet, tell him he deserved everything he got, and what a gutless, selfish, inadequate excuse for a superior he was.

But Lister hadn’t said anything. Somehow that was infinitely worse. 

Rimmer would normally have been thrilled to be let off the hook so easily. However, although things had immediately gone back to the way they were, there was one exception. A big exception that made the unresolved anxiety twist his intestines in a tangled knot. Lister was slobby, optimistic, shirty, thoughtless, and smiley, everything he usually was, but he treated Rimmer  _ like Rimmer. _

It wasn’t as if they’d ever stopped winding each other up, pulling mean spirited pranks, or hurling insults. It wasn’t that.

It was the overfamiliarity of stray touches, the sitting next to him on games night, the sly looks from across the table, the invites to play golf on passing planetoids: all gone. The awful part was just how unruffled Lister was about it. As if nothing was different. Just a silent denial of all the things Rimmer had taken for granted. A revocation of whatever it was they had.

He wished desperately Lister had just thrown a major wobble. Being in trouble he knew about. Disappointment. Disgust. Sure. But this? 

Moreso than before, Rimmer would get in increasingly bad-tempered or cruel moods. Obviously, he privately blamed Lister for his foul disposition, using that as an excuse to be even more pestilent. But he had hoped, really allowed himself to hope that his leaving to become Ace would have prompted some kind of acknowledgement. An apology or a row, it didn’t matter. Just something. 

Not that he was doing anything about it himself.

Instead, Lister just smiled and supported the departure. It quickly became apparent to Rimmer that he was as welcome as a curry night fart in a spacesuit and Lister couldn’t wait for him to clear off permanently. One little life-or-death betrayal and it was off you pop, jog on,  _ bon voyage _ , see you next never.

Approaching the midsection, Rimmer hesitated. The past couple days he had become accustomed to a paranoid checking of his surroundings before he entered anywhere. The need to throw on the persona unexpectedly at any time had his nerves frayed. Cautiously scanning the galley from a distance, the newly-minted Ace saw it was empty save for the scouser, gringy as usual in his boilersuit. 

Lister would probably try to talk to him again. This was mildly inconvenient to his plan to lock himself in the guest quarters and quietly lose his shit for a few hours.

Wildfire’s words bounced in his head. It was time to quit faffing around, she had said. Fess up, ship out. Well, she didn’t know how extraordinarily talented a faffer Rimmer was.

But the one thing that made it seem like it might be worth getting it over with was that maybe, just maybe, if he was the exact proper balance of pathetic and brave, Lister would grant him one last pity shag. A man had to have a little hope.

With completely fabricated confidence, Rimmer marched toward the room where Lister was having tea and reading comics. At the doorway his mouth opened to announce himself. When nothing came out, he swiftly spun 180 degrees and marched away. Mustering the will to try again with an internal pep-talk, he repeated this twice more with similar results.

On second thought, perhaps he could just disappear in the middle of the night?

“‘S that you,  _ ‘Ace?’”  _ Lister had stretched over to get a look at the source of noise behind him.

Caught, Rimmer cleared his throat. “Ah. Hmm? Yes.” A flustered shiver prickled the back of his neck. He reluctantly stepped into the galley, back stiff as a board. He was hoping it came off as a strut. It didn’t. 

He stopped at awkward attention and attempted a casual lean against the island. Lister could clearly tell something was off when he stood to face him, brow knitted.

“What is it?”

“I… I just wanted to say… that is, you should know…” Rimmer searched his mind for words.

“Yeah?” Lister watched him with concerned amusement.

“I leave in the morning.” Rimmer hoped this alone would be enough of a hint.

“Ah.” Lister breathed lightly, folding his arms. “Nervous?”

Rimmer grunted with false machismo. It came out squeaky. “Who, me?” He shifted his fidgety hands behind his back and rolled on his heels. “Flying off to become the most adored hero in the multiverse? This will be a doddle.”

Lister gave him a wistful smile. “I'm chuffed for you. Hey, when you’re out there being dashing and brave, don't forget us little people.”

Rimmer’s chest tightened with a painful twinge. Just one moment of hesitation, one sorrowful, begging word asking him to reconsider, was that too much to ask? Not even a _ ‘we’ll miss you, matey’ _ for the soon to be terminally absent?

But, then, he didn’t deserve that.

All this encouragement, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be told he’s useless and worthless and being so very useless and worthless, he might as well stay here snogging Lister’s brains out instead.

“You’ll, um.” Rimmer’s gaze dropped away. “You’ll stay sane without me, then?”

Lister grinned. His eyes flicked up and down the hologram’s form before he nodded. “Yeah, man, I’ll try.” He said softly, a hint of laughter under his words.

Rimmer’s stomach sank a little more. He knew he wasn’t wanted nor needed, this just rubbed it in. His mind wandered back to the officer insignia awarded to a dead man, the decoration he’d never wear. He really couldn’t figure out whether the gesture was empty or not, and he wasn’t about to ask. If he didn’t ask, he could believe it wasn’t.

The hologram was tired, used-up, and sporting fewer active brain cells than a drive-time disk jockey. Feeling suddenly very discouraged and having no idea what to say, he wanted to just get the hell out of the room.

“I’ll just.” He pointed toward the stairs helplessly. He was swallowing and licking his lips too much. “Be off to my sleeping quarters.”

Rimmer flinched as he found himself on the receiving end of a hug. Brief. Tight. Friendly. 

Lister let him go, grinning, his hand lingering on the hologram’s forearm. It was the kind of silly little grin that makes the past fall away. It’s one he hasn’t seen in a while.

Rimmer wanted to snog the stupid grin. But he didn’t. Because he was a coward. And he’d be rejected. And a rejection right then would have been gutting. He couldn’t bring himself to fail so miserably, even though they’d never see each other again. It was a tad late for it, but he decided to at least try to leave Lister with as few bad memories about him as possible.

“G’night, smeghead.” Lister returned to his seat, leaving goose pimples where his fingers had touched.

Downcast, Rimmer stepped towards the corridor, judging every decision he’d made to get up to this point harshly. He loathed himself for his incompetence and blamed the universe for making him deal with such unreasonable things. But, if he was going to be a sad, lonely git, he might as well do it somewhere else. Maybe he could even manage to get his end away before anyone noticed what a total disappointment he was.

Rimmer still had a wispy feeling on his arm where the little hairs had been disturbed. He paused, staring at nothing for an overlong moment. One last thing itched at his mind. “Ah… Lister…”

“Hmm?”

“Look, thanks for these last few years. They. Weren’t terrible.”

A day later, in the Wildfire cockpit, cramped and sweaty, Rimmer began to realise the computer might be on to him.

His first and foremost goal had been to organise the ship’s years worth of excessive logs, lists, notes, diaries, timetables, forms, receipts, and procedure plans in cross-referenceable chronological and alphabetical order. Centuries of bureaucratic, pedantic pilots had created a catalog of files in a magnitude of order which made them almost useless. This delighted Rimmer because he could not only casually insult his predecessor’s skills at record keeping, but he had more than enough work ahead of him to procrastinate indefinitely. The computer was blatantly upset with this but had conceded.

Scrolling through the endless documents of the dead gave Rimmer chills. Endless Rimmers had sat in Wildfire, flitted through space and time, and spoken to this computer.

"All those trillions of Aces and not  _ one  _ ever tried to give you a proper name?" He asked incredulously. 

The computer seemed thrown off by the abrupt non sequitur question, answering impatiently. "The original Ace just called me Computer. I like it." He supposed he had offended her.

Rimmer smirked in contempt as he continued his input. "Well, it’s terrifically creative. Must’ve taken him ages to come up with a cracking nickname like that.”

"Mmm. It’s not  _ just  _ that. Sometimes they say ‘old girl’ or ‘darling.’ There was one Ace that called me 'Sugar Tits.'"

The hologram snorted. "Innovative. What happened to him?”

"Life support accidentally cut out. Tragic really."

Silence fell over them as he tried to discern if that was a threat. He’d only just gotten to the B's in his  _ ‘Terrified Ramblings’  _ folder when she interrupted him again.

“Ace, dear.” She pushed unaffectionately, her voice less sultry than usual. “Focus. See that flashing red light there? We have a distress call coming in.”

“Computer,” Rimmer said primly, not attempting the accent. “How do you expect me to go out gallivanting into danger with this mess? I can’t look a thing up. It won’t do.”

“Just ask  _ me  _ if you have a question.”

“I’d rather have things in proper order,” He replied with a touch of sing-song to his voice, eyes on his work. “If it’s all the same to you.”

“It’s not!” Wildfire’s screen lit up with a schematic and manifest. “Look, here, it’s a luxury tourist cruise liner, Olympic-class, the White Star. 1,317 passengers, crew compliment 912. They’ve been struck by an asteroid directly in the main engines, Ace. They’re leaking fuel and don’t have enough escape pods.”

Rimmer sternly brushed this off. “Well, what am I supposed to do about that? I can barely fit myself in here, so unless everyone onboard happens to be a particularly talented yoga instructor, I don’t know what you foresee me accomplishing.”

Wildfire’s computerized voice wavered. “Ace, they’ll die without you.”

“Fine.” Rimmer grumbled. “Fine! Have it your way. I’ll call 999.”

_ “Ace!!” _

“Computer, I’m not ready!!” The hologram barked, letting his fear show. “Look at me! I’ve had, what, one measly hour training, if one can even refer to it as such. I can’t just suddenly un-become the galaxy’s largest invertebrate. I don’t have the skills! I won’t save anyone, I’ll just end up making things worse, believe you me. And when I’ve gone west, you’ll have to find yourself another poor sorry sod to fill this seat.”

“Ace, You have to start somewhere.  _ Trillions  _ of you have done this and only 3.6% died on their first mission.”

“How reassuring.” He said dismissively. “Not on your nelly.” He fiddled with buttons until his filing folders reappeared. 

Rimmer felt the engines rumbling to life and the dashboard screen display switched to a navigation course plotted for the coordinates of the White Star. The Wildfire began to bank to the left.

“Oh no you don’t!” He snapped, quickly smashing buttons to cancel the action. 

  
“Leave it out! What is wrong with you?!” Wildfire sputtered, any semblance of her patience gone.

“Beg Pardon? Remind me, who is Ace here?”

Losing no time, the ship reengaged and began moving towards the distress signal again. Rimmer jabbed at the controls but this time she had prudently locked him out.

“Ahhhh, Computer,” The hologram went into bargaining mode, lightly hysterical. His stomach felt nauseous. “I’m realising now that you’re totally, totally right! I’m just a bit out of sorts is all. Why don’t we just find a nice space port for the night, sleep on it, and start all this hero business fresh in the morning, hmm? This one’s all a bit too  _ easy  _ for me anyway. I’m sure the authorities already have it sorted.”

“Okay, listen up _ Bonehead.” _ Wildfire retorted. “There is a ship full of wealthy socialites out there waiting for Ace Rimmer to swoop in and save their haughty little behinds. I don’t give two shites if you can’t be bothered. I am taking you onboard whether you like it or not, and you are going to be brave and handsome and heroic. Because that’s what you are. You got this.”

Rimmer inhaled the deepest breath of his existence, the breath of resignation and fortitude. His heart felt ready to leap out of his chest. “I’ve got this. I’ve got this.” He chanted, eyes closing. They snapped back open with a start. “I very much don’t got this. Computer, what the hell do I do??”

“When we get there,” The computer said with a sense of urgency, “Try to eject the damaged engine. They likely still have emergency bulkheads in place, but that won’t last against an...”

Maneuvering into view of the cruise liner, she was cut off by a bright burst of light. Flames and debris billowed outward from the contorted wreckage. In the distance, a few oblong escape pods were moving away as fast as their limited propulsion systems could allow. First, a shockwave sent the small, red vessel into turbulence, followed by bits of metal plating and personal effects whizzing past the glass canopy as they watched in stunned silence. 

“...explosion.”

They both sat speechless in the uncomfortable, wordless space. Slowly, the fire and smoke dissipated, leaving a quiet jumble of fragments drifting peacefully in the vacuum. 

Clearing his throat, Rimmer thought it smart to say something.

“...About that space port?”

After discovering most Aces snoozed in the tiny cockpit when no finer lodging was available, Rimmer pushed for somewhere else, anywhere else. He absolutely had to get away from the nagging voice of the computer and the stiff pain in his spine. When offered, he refused to dimension jump again, worried another emergency would land at his incapable feet.

A substantial stash of dollarpounds found in the glove box could have bought Rimmer a posh night’s sleep on any planet, but location is everything and the best they could find within any reasonable distance was the interplanetary equivalent of a dodgy lorry park inn on a run-down space station. The hologram quietly accepted his bent keycard, laminate peeling at the edges, relieved to finally be out of the confines of the Wildfire. He endured only a few unhidden snickers at his appearance from the rough cargo ship locals before disappearing into the sweet solitude of the stale-smelling room.

_‘A blinding success.’_ ’ Rimmer thought to himself sarcastically, resting his aching back against the door. What a piss poor first day at it. How many Aces would have had a win, not to mention women, under their belt by now? The last Ace was probably sipping champagne, wearing gold metals, and receiving high-class blowjobs his first night. Meanwhile, Rimmer’s ‘oops-they-died’ count was already in the thousands. It beggared belief. It had to be a record of some kind.

The room was small by comparison to his quarters back on Starbug. As he walked around it, feeling more alone than ever, he acutely felt the impact of leaving everything behind. Taking his things would have been suspicious, and besides, there was no room in the tiny cockpit for whatnot. No shoe trees, no figurines, no books, nothing that meant anything to him had come along except a half-used biro, a scarf, and three rather optimistic ship-issue condoms with his name sewn in.

Peeling off the itchy wig, he tossed it and the sunglasses on the bedside table and used the lightbee remote to disrobe. The satisfaction was palpable. Getting rid of the shining costume made him feel normal for a short, glorious moment.

He found his way into the loo with its off white, scratchy towels and individually wrapped soaps. The water in the glass stall came out room temperature when he turned the knob, but he stepped in regardless. 

With the heavy splash of the shower hitting his back, Rimmer wondered why he was such a headcase. Why he had agreed to it all. This was probably the stupidest decision of his life, and that was really saying something. 

The image of Lister came to mind. When he laughed at the very idea of Rimmer as Ace. And again, when he smiled softly and wished him luck.

That’s why he had gone. 

Too weary to stand, Rimmer sank to the bottom of the cubicle, letting the tepid water sting his legs and chest.

Lister’s stupid gerbilly face. That was the smegging reason. The way his locks fell over his shoulder when he ducked his head. The way his teeth caught on his lip when he tried not to laugh. The way his eyes crinkled when he inevitably did anyway. 

Picturing the gimboid’s grin somehow made him feel a little better. Lister really thought Rimmer had a chance of pulling this off, didn’t he? Not the smartest bet to take, but it did make him feel a little better.

They’d had some good times, before the hologram smegged it all up. 

Sort of.

There were moments.

Like the time Lister had sneaked into his quarters, smelling ashy and musky and invited himself into the thin bunk, all mouth and hands. Rimmer closed his eyes to remember how his bunkmate’s muscles had flexed as he tugged off the black T-shirt, wiggling it up and over so that his stomach stretched out.

Trying to shut out the world, the day, his life, Rimmer kept his eyes squeezed shut. He slumped into the back wall, hand finding its way between his legs. 

Lister had worn his loose grey underwear, the ones that bulged at the front even when he was soft. Every once in a while, Rimmer would catch a glimpse of them in the galley late in the evening. In fact, after he had been caught staring, they seemed to show up more frequently. That night, they had been open slightly at the front from the half-hard cock pushing against the wispy fabric.

When Lister had straddled him, leaning forward to catch his lips, the thing had pushed against the hologram’s stomach, stiff but still yielding. 

Rimmer stroked himself to the memory of the way the scouser’s body slotted perfectly against his own, balls nested together, hard-ons twitching where they pressed alongside one another. His hands had slid along the shape of Lister’s hips, exploring the lean lines and how they dipped down to strong thighs. They’d moved in concert together on the soft, squeaking mattress, pushing and pulling and panting across each other’s skin.

He chased the feeling of locks falling onto his collarbone, the scent of his bunkmate’s hair, and the salty taste of his neck.

Rimmer had lost himself somewhere in Lister’s rough chin when he felt a familiar rush of pleasure. He let it pulse through him as his head fell back against the cool tile wall. His orgasm gripped him hard then faded gradually until his tired hand gave up and dropped away. 

It was a long time before he dragged himself back out to the shabby bed, still moist and ruffled. Detecting the beginnings of mould at the edges of the sheets, Rimmer switched to softlight and contented himself to merely rest on top of the duvet. 

“You're just afraid, old son.” Ace had said. “Afraid that you're not good enough. You've always wanted to play the hero.”

Well, of course he was afraid. He didn’t particularly  _ like  _ being as useful as a Tesco coupon in Kensington. He wanted to be better than that, of course he did. He couldn’t help making a tit of himself was all, it wasn’t his fault. But the look in Lister’s eyes had made him think there was still the slimmest possibility that he wouldn’t be the  _ worst  _ Ace ever. Wouldn’t it be nice. 

Sitting with his own thoughts, it was likely to take a while to drift off. He had the urge to write in his diary as he did every night before it registered that it too was back on Starbug at the arse end of nowhere in a dimension without a Rimmer. He momentarily mourned its loss, wishing he’d bothered to bring at least that along.

Lister would likely try to crack the password on day one to mock the contents, but it didn’t trouble him. It didn’t make a blind bit of difference. His personal logs were sealed with retinal authentication and the uneducated gimboid didn’t have the wits to get around the security. Kryten was the only one with admin access to the database to bypass it, and the fusspot mechanoid certainly had no reason to snoop.

…

**Starbug 1**

**Jupiter Mining Corporation Class II Ship-to-Surface Transport Vehicle**

**Personal Logs**

Arnold J. Rimmer

Space Corps Hardlight Hologram, Second Technician, B.S.c., S.S.c., Acting Senior Officer

Personal Diary Entry 2196

Entry Date +5/12/25

Another day at the sharp end of command, but nothing yours truly, old Iron Balls, couldn’t swing. 

Today happened to be Christmas day and crew morale last night was running higher than a uni student on their first holiday in Amsterdam. Little did we know we were in for anything but a silent night.

Up at 04:00 for my usual brisk 10k morning jog followed by vigorous calisthenics, I was the first to detect signs of trouble. Coming across the cockpit for a brief shift report (I often multitask in this manner for efficiency), I discovered the useless snoozing feline, his drooling gob pressed against several flashing alerts. I seized the controls swiftly, waking my subordinate. 

Discipline is key to leadership. An even hand and cool head is needed to correct errors while garnering respect, especially in tight situations where time is of the essence. With this heavy in my mind, I reprimanded the Cat.

“Cat, you incompetent ninny, there’s a reason I ordered someone on duty at all times.” I reminded him firmly, “This is highly dangerous territory. Shape up or ship out.”

Cat’s guilt and shame were immediately apparent. “Oh, I’ve let you down _ again! _ ” he wailed in remorse. His profuse apologies were unnecessary as I had wisely moved on to addressing the more pressing concern, collected and focused.

Examining the computer, I discovered what had caused the warnings. To starboard, from the direction of the nearby Mogadon Cluster, something large, wet, and unfriendly had materialised. As I tried to lock the scanners on it for more information, it disappeared entirely only to return moments later. I sounded the red alert. 

“What is it!?” The Cat shrieked at me. 

Calmly I clarified. “You, lily-livered blockhead, It’s obviously a pan-dimensional liquid beast and it’s hot on our tail.”

Gallantly, I commanded the Cat to take evasive measures. Trembling with fear, he took the helm, bolstered solely by my stoic example of bravery. 

Finally, Kryten and Lister arrived, stumbling into the cockpit impermissibly 30 seconds later than established regulation response time. In addition to severely panicking. To get through to their addled minds, I had to step in. 

“You two!” I said, “At your stations! And make it snappy”

Lister obeyed dutifully, but not without whimpering, “Oh, me knees are shaking! What will become of us?!”

Kryten, our mechanoid maid, vainly attempted to demonstrate intelligence, failing miserably as he always does. He said, “Suggest we refer to Space Corps directive 10823, Sir.”

My encyclopedic intellect quickly retrieved the directive.  _ “‘The use of Crocs as footwear is grounds for court martial.’  _ That hardly seems relevant.”

Kryten looked suitably admonished, replying, “Oh, you’re  _ completely  _ right. I’ve gotten it so dreadfully wrong  _ again,  _ Sir,  _ as usual.  _ Naturally, I meant 1082 _ 4: ‘During red alert, no non-essential crew members are to be allowed access to the cockpit except to provide finger sandwiches, tea, and an emergency bucket should the flight crew get caught short.’ _ I’ll just go get the kettle on.”

I quickly corrected this behavior. “Kryten, you overgrown Roomba, grow some vertebrae. We need every man on deck.”

How we, in a pinch, get by with such a bare-bones, scrappy crew of know-nothing, yellow-bellied nincompoops is truly a remarkable testament to the power of good leadership.

  
“It’s gaining on us! We can’t outrun it!” Cat cried out in terror. Before I could stop him, the fool had fired the laser cannons into the core of the creature. I chided him soundly for this impulsive conduct. Being as it was entirely liquid, the lasers harmlessly passed through, as I had of course predicted. However, this action had slowed our escape and clearly angered our nemesis.

As the crew gawped in shock, the beast surrounded our hull. Our ship was wracked with hideous creaks and moans from all sides, the lights flickering on and off. Drips of the putrid fluid were trickling through weak points in the structure.

Kryten’s falsely apropos solution was, “I’ll get the mackintoshes and wellies, Sir.” 

“Stand aside.” I directed, removing useless Lister from his pilot’s station. If you want a thing done well, do it yourself. Gripping the controls confidently, I announced, “Men, put your big-boy undies on, we’re flying into that star.”

“What ever for?? You’ll kill us all!” Kryten blubbered stupidly.

“Wrong again, you mechanical moron! No time to explain!”

I heroically piloted the fast deteriorating ship towards a nearby F2 star. Speed would be essential. Coming into a tight orbital curve, I punched the acceleration and nosedived into an oncoming flare. My crew wailed wildly. The cabin temperature rose to almost unbearable levels as I level-headedly skimmed the edge of the flames with precision, just out of reach.

As I had cleverly planned, the liquid beast began to evaporate, great billowy clouds of gas falling away. It released us, plunging helplessly towards the fiery inferno, its grotesque form dissolving.

“It’s impossible!” Cat said, rightfully amazed.

“Impossible is a word to be found only in the dictionary of fools.” I replied sensibly, pulling us away and back onto our intended course.

“I can’t believe I ever doubted you, Sir!” Kryten said, recognizing my superior genius. “I’m such a simpleton!” 

Lister added, “What would we do without you?! Oh Rimmer, you saved our lives!”

Relinquishing the helm I saw the crew was keen on hearing a few words of encouragement from the man they admire (me). Drawing myself up to my full towering stature, feet wide with dignified authority, I delivered a rousing, albeit short, speech.

“You tried your best men. But what really matters is  _ succeeding.  _ If that requires you to change, that’s your mission. Not everyone has what it takes, but those who dare to fail miserably can achieve greatly. You have that advantage. Remember that.”

I exited the cockpit to chattering praises for “Big Man,” as the crew likes to call me. I intended to continue my morning athletic regimen, my health, strength, vigor, and a sharp mind being the rewards of a properly maintained body. Rippling muscles sculpted into Adonis-like perfection are merely a byproduct of this. However, I’ve found my magnetic appearance can be quite the distraction to the rank and file, which is admittedly no fault of their own.

This I encountered as I took my leave when Lister followed me into the corridor to make an immodest proposition. His voice was high and breathy as he gasped, “Your macho display of courage and rangy good looks have made me terribly horny. Oh Rimmer, make love to me, make love to me _ now. _ I’m ever so gagging for it!”

Fraternizing with the crew is nothing to take lightly. I’ve rejected my share of smitten, voluptuous officers in my day for this exact reason. In this case, I shrewdly saw an opportunity to inspire a bit of morale in the troops, so to speak.

Taking Lister in my strapping arms for a deep dip, I gazed into his eyes. The intensity of my stare simultaneously subdued and thrilled him. 

I warned him charmingly, "One rule, baby. Don't fall in love."

I could see he was already aquiver. I stilled his lips with my own in a blazing kiss. With loads of tongue.

In my executive quarters, mood lighting on and Haydn's Surprise Symphony playing in the background, I heaved Lister, a quivering mess of quivers, onto my luxurious king-size bed, leaving him in a delicious sprawl. Not one to waste time, I stripped off the top of my uniform to reveal the rippling, statuesque figure that can only come from years of rough and tumble astro life. As he gazed upon me, the gorgeous hologram that I am, I could see him visibly harden through his long johns in excitement.

Unable to contain himself, Lister ripped off his leather jacket and long johns to reveal a seductive matching set of black lacy knickers and a peephole bra. He wiggled in a desperate, come-hither way, clearly aching for the attention.

Though pathetic, the erotic display was not lost on me. His eyes were ablaze with lusty hunger like two glistening moons, yet the curls peeking out of his silky underwear were black as a moonless night. His nipples poked out through the unmentionables, hard like two little sweet pebbles begging for a pinch. The sight laid before me was incredibly bewitching.

Taking his body into my arms, I ran my fingers along the lace. He sighed and grabbed at me, beginning to look giddy. 

My manhood was magnificently hard in my trousers when Lister reached in with his hand to impatiently take it out. With wide, marveling eyes he said, “Oh Duke! I see why they call you ‘Big Man’!” I could tell it was more than he’d ever dreamed of.

As he stroked, his other hand explored my chiseled features, praising them with captivation, knowing that no other could ever satisfy him the same way again after this encounter. He at last drew my throbbing organ betwixt his full, sensual lips. As I was far, far, _ far _ too large for him, he could only swallow a portion. Nevertheless, He sucked me down as best as he could, eager to impress and please me. Each movement of his head seemed to fill him with more pleasure than the last.

I had other plans though. Like a flash I lifted Lister’s body back, pressing him against the expensive sheets. I pulled the alluring lingerie off to reach the irresistible man flesh beneath, throwing the lacy undergarments across the room. My talented fingers explored his erogenous zones one by one in ways he had never felt before, making him thrash and moan. My lips caressed his, followed by my tongue opening his mouth in a profound, enchanting game of tonsil hockey.

“Take me!” Lister said. He spread his legs wide at my touch, preparing to be entered by me, closing his eyes in anticipation. It was obscene and enticing to see him ready for me. I pushed his supple thighs further apart and set about doing things with my mouth and his body that brought him to peaks of pleasure he never thought possible. He moved his hips against mine, begging desperately for more.

Dropping my trousers, I settled between Lister’s legs, cradling his shaky hips in my powerful grip. I mounted him slowly, letting his body stretch to accommodate my massive girth. All the while, he writhed and mewled in bliss. As I slid fully into his back passage, it was obvious nothing in the universe felt as terrific as that sensation did to him. This is an expression I know well as I have seen it  _ many  _ times from  _ many  _ satisfied lovers.

I drove my member into him roughly, the force and speed causing him to shudder with joy. One of his hands rubbed across my hard abdominal muscles as they flexed. My rigorous routine of sit-ups resulting in an iron core came in handy for times like these. The other hand tangled in my flawlessly coiffed curls, which have been quite often likened in their perfection to a statue of a noble Grecian emperor. 

I pulled Lister tightly against my skin to thrust harder, sinking myself wholly into him with full, hard snaps of my hips. Wailing in rapture, he looked as though he may black out from the intensity of the coital tango we were engaged in. His long hair tumbled wildly across his red flushed shoulders as he cried “Arnie!” “Big Man!” and “Duke!” on repeat, filled as fully with transcendent pleasure as he was with my throbbing manhood.

I was taken by surprise as he muffled a shout with a fist in his mouth, spasming violently with the most exquisite climax of his life. His essence spilled across his stomach as I continued to push into him fast and hard. It seemed like ages that he continued to whimper until the last drops at last were wrung from him.

Coming to his senses, Lister apologized to me for his lack of endurance. “That’s never happened before, I swear! You’re just so incredibly sexy!” He lied.

I reassured him benevolently, “No worries, my pretty. When you’re not used to a man of these proportions driving you into unimaginable sexual ecstasy, it’s only to be expected to lose a bit of control.”

Heartened by my charm, he made a new request. “Finish inside me, Duke, don’t stop! Make me feel how massive you are!” There was a waver to his voice that betrayed his yearning for me. 

I then ravished him, to his delight, for a really, really, really, really long time, until he begged me to fill him with my seed. I granted his desires, unloading copiously into his willing body. 

In the afterglow, I smoked my cigar, waiting as Lister recovered from an experience he will never forget.

When he spoke at long last, he said to me, “I adore you Arnie. You’re so handsome and strong and smart. Please, take me as your lover from now ‘till forever.”

I was prepared for this, it being a common occurrence after one has sampled what I offer. I had to let him down gently.

“I’m flattered, cupcake.” I told him. “But this stallion’s not for taming. If you ever need a proper shagging again though, you know where to find me.”

He took the news as well as he could and I expect he will come sniffing around again soon. Already I see his eyes wandering when they should be focused on his duties. I will have to take him under my tutelage on work ethic. 

P.S. Christmas activities cancelled.

Tags: Rimmer, Arnold Rimmer, Arnold J. Rimmer, Duke, Space Corps Hardlight Hologram, Second Technician, B.S.C., S.S.C., Acting Senior Officer, Handsome, Rugged, Heroism, Rumpy Pumpy, Christmas, Liquid Beast, Mogadon, Mogadon Cluster, Peephole Bra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the tonal shift gave you whiplash, call my lawyer at 1 (800) smeg-off. I hope you didn’t vomit.
> 
> I’m so curious, does anyone ever notice my little easter egg references? In this one we had the Titanic and Rimmer keeps stealing famous quotes without attributing them.
> 
> FYI the next chapter will be far more normal than this one was. I promise.
> 
> BTW I know series 8 is problematic and not everyone's favorite, I have a plan and hope to make sure it's enjoyable and not focused entirely around nano!rimmer.


	8. Series 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for a brief reference to the time Lister poured sexual magnetism virus on Rimmer and a suicide joke.

Rimmer was tucked deep into the flat, standard issue pillow when the bounce of the mattress made him snort awake with a start. Bewildered, his sleep addled mind tried to make sense of the situation as it came-to. A horrible noise droned close to his ear and grabbing hands tugged him away from his comfortable sleeping position.

The mental fog lifted fast as simulated adrenaline kickstarted his senses. Fingers clung to his side and arm in a tight embrace. He couldn’t see in the dark, but by the soft sobbing and the smell he could tell exactly who had intruded. It was the smell of a brewery inside a rubbish tip that had been burnt down in a desperate bid for the insurance money. 

Resisting the crushing clutch, Rimmer pulled away what little he could. “What on Io??” He hissed under his breath, “Lister?? _Bang out of order, squire!”_

The blubbering buffoon was creating a small wet spot on the hologram’s shoulder. One in serious danger of becoming a rather large wet spot.

_“’m sorry.”_ Lister squeezed out in a tiny whine. His face pushed against Rimmer so close that it muffled his words.

Rimmer blinked his painfully tired eyes and groaned. The stiff jacket with its clunk and scratch of pins and patches pressed into his skin through the pyjamas. The fragrance of old leather and body odor added depth and breadth to the pungent ‘Eau de Space Bum.’ He tried again to dislodge himself which only encouraged the scouser to take him more firmly in his arms. Rimmer could have pushed away harder, it was true, but he wasn’t just yet at the point of injuring the gimboid. Though he was nearing it fast.

“You’ll experience new heights of ‘sorry’ if you don’t extricate yourself from my bunk pronto.” He barked back in frustration.

With a tearful and mucousy cough, Lister repeated himself, _“R-Rimmer, ‘m sorry.”_ He swallowed with a wet smack of his lips and his breath caught in his throat. His head swayed back and forth on Rimmer’s shoulder, unsure of where to land.

Lister had evidently been on the lash that night.

Rimmer cringed. His right hand hovered, useless. He’d seen Lister drunk more often than sober it seemed, but not often this obliterated. This was the level of car-parked the scouser reserved for special occasions of joy or suffering. This time, presumably the latter. And likely related to the current relative proximity of Kristine Kochanski. Soon he’d black out and the next day he’d have a magnificent hangover and no memory of crawling into Rimmer’s bunk whatsoever. 

“Had a little domestic with the Mrs., have you?” Rimmer growled. “Come here in hopes of getting off?” 

_“’m sorry.”_ Was the only reply he got. Meanwhile, Lister’s leg wrapped over his, pulling him in closer.

Rimmer grunted, feeling helpless. “Be that as it may, I’d rather not have your bodily fluids on me. Kindly remove yourself.”

Lister let his head collapse into the sheets, heavy and unmovable. He released a little laugh that turned into another choked sob. “Mished ya, Shmeghead.” He managed. Then, in a huskier tone, _“Shouldna told ya ta go.”_ His shaky fingers tightened their grip in the cloth of Rimmer’s pyjama top.

Rimmer licked his dry lips as he twigged what his bunkmate was getting at. “Don’t go emotional on me, Lister. You _know_ I don’t know what to do when people get emotional.”

With a hybrid burp, wheeze, gasp, Lister paused to collect himself. Oblivious to the words directed at him, he laughed again vacantly. “Yer... back now, sho we c’n make it up, yeah?”

He pressed his forehead into Rimmer’s neck and the hologram could feel hot sweat. Tears streaked across the polyester pyjama collar as Lister rubbed his eyes there, making his bunkmate grimace in disgust.

Rigid and tense, Rimmer clamped his jaw shut. He had no inkling of what action would end this and really just wanted Lister to leave him alone. This exchange was torture enough without fumbling motions and sloshy speech. He cemented himself in place to tough it out, willing Lister to lose consciousness.

Still, he felt somewhat smug. At least he could rub this in later.

_“’m sorry.”_ Lister muttered again to fill the silence. He breathed in long, shuddering gulps.

Nothing particularly more eloquent came from the scouser’s mouth. He wobbled slightly, but intentional movement seemed to be more difficult than he could finagle. Gradually, the noises lessened and the trembling stilled. Rimmer pinpointed the moment the scouser passed out when the weeping was replaced by the forceful snort of a snore.

He would have liked to enjoy the closeness. The warmth and familiarity of Lister’s touch was something he hadn’t had in ages. However, that biting stench in his nostrils stood resolutely in the way. The wet spots lining his skin didn’t make things any better, nor did the pain from the unnatural position he was locked into.

With a mighty rip from the lower regions, Lister’s ever present delhi belly released its signature noxious fume into the small space.

Right.

“Lights!” Rimmer said, pulling backwards, trying to cover his nose with his sleeve. The little ocean grey bunkroom illuminated, but the scouser didn’t stir. Without finesse, he rolled the smaller man’s weight over, regaining the use of his arm. Fluorescents now glaring down on them, he could see a variety of liquids drying on Lister’s face and chin, including one or two he was previously unaware of.

Rimmer’s brow furrowed. “Dear God, look at you. You’re a shambles.” 

Gracelessly, he climbed over the inert body to stumble out of his bunk. He snagged a flannel and began to furiously scrub himself in front of the tiny sink.

As he washed up, he could see Lister in the reflection. Loud, belabored snores were filling the air now. Rimmer wondered to himself how it was possible to pine day after day over coming back to _this._ In retrospect, pongy, poxy Lister wasn’t exactly the top totty his lonesome mind had painted him to be. Absence truly makes the heart grow stupider. 

“Repugnant piss artist.” Rimmer grumbled aloud to deaf ears.

It occurred to him that he should find something suitable for a sick bucket if he ever wanted the room to be usable again. Leaving the rubbish bin by Lister’s drooling mouth, he took one last long eyeful before making his exit.

In the corridor, Rimmer counted his steps, something that always seemed to soothe him. The monotonous drudgery of it was easy to concentrate on. He could think about how step 32 aligned perfectly with the edge of the tile instead of how Lister sure didn't seem sorry to see him go before. When step 346 made him stumble against the uneven flooring he thought about ordering Kryten to repair it instead of his confused inability to decide how he felt about the apology. 

At step 592 he thought of the holographic projection suite. 

On the tedious trip down to floor 592, he counted the weathered spots on the lift ceiling. 44 Large ones and at least 200 small ones. He lost track and had to start over. 

It had been only a couple days since he'd set foot back on the small rouge one. Stunned to find himself in his home dimension, he had decided not to look a gift horse in the gob. When he came across the freshly deceased former Rimmer, he was doubly confused and doubly unwilling to question his circumstances. 

Since then, he'd been informed of his duplicate's short life. Followed by an untimely, so close to heroic end. _Sod the bastard._ That's one awkward situation he didn't have to handle. He quite enjoyed taking all the credit for his heroism anyway.

Yet, a thought had struck him, first nagging lightly in the back of his mind, but now at full crescendo. _That_ Arnold J. Rimmer, the illegitimate Arnold J. Rimmer, had the months of his life that he'd been denied. And he wanted them back.

For too long he had crammed himself into that miserable cockpit with the computer who refused to refer to him as anything other than 'Bonehead.' As Ace, he'd floundered and flailed and been bashed within an inch of his life. He couldn't even get the voice down right. 

Of course, Rimmer wouldn't tell the others about that. Obviously. 

Now he could balance out the shit time spent as Ace. With prison, granted. But, comparatively, a nice uneventful term in a jail cell sounded like pure bliss. At this point, syncing the memories of dodgy canteen meat would be like a retroactive holiday.

Rimmer found the holosuite unlocked and vacant. Picking through the bank of alphabetized personality disks, it was easy to find the last memories of the other him. Glancing over his name, he frowned. 

"Did you say 'gazpacho' too, you poor bastard?"

There was no response. He palmed the tiny tape, examining the plain grey and white surfaces for traces of his own humanity before casually shoving it into the console.

Rimmer glanced at the large yellow sign announcing ‘No Unauthorized Entry.’ He was not adept with holotechnology, despite having an incentive to learn. He did, however, have the basic ability to perform his own maintenance. He reasoned that this couldn't be much different than resyncing himself after a crash. Or what Lister had done to him.

He reassured himself silently as he called up the appropriate tool on the monitor. Connecting his bee to a lead and the lead to a power socket, Rimmer settled in for the remote data migration. With a stroke of a key, his sight briefly blanked out. 

_Black._

_Lister is surprisingly happy to see him._

_Then he's not._

_He's strange, something different about him._

_Then he's saying something utterly mad about microscopic robots._

_There’s hope of a promotion. An invite to the table._

_Sex. He’s having sex. Glorious, intense sex. Or, more accurately, sex is happening to him. He’s laying there in delighted astonishment as Yvonne ravishes him mercilessly._

_And again in the Captain’s Galley, an officer this time. Rough. Too rough. And again. And again. And again._

Rimmer flinched and gripped the sides of his chair tightly. Already a strange seething jealousy towards himself was settling in. At the same time, it didn’t quite make sense as that _was him_ on the pantry floor, face pressed into an industrial size bag of dried navy beans. It was hard to grasp the memories, to integrate them as each new moment stitched itself into his psyche. 

_But it wasn’t real after all. It was A/R. Everyone is livid with him. He’s going to the tank. He’s been found out, he’s done for, finished. This does not bode well for his career._

_There are men, large purple-clad men, and they’re grabbing at him. Four of them. Then eight. He loses count. He’s screaming for help, guards are pulling the men away, hitting them, shouting. There’s not enough of them. A siren blares, signaling lockdown._

_He’s sitting, shaking in a medi-bay chair, a starched white sheet drawn tightly around him. A cute nurse makes flirtatious eyes at him. A dawning horror hits his face as he realises what Lister has done._

It hurt, physically hurt, and Rimmer felt sick to his stomach. The incident simultaneously had the faded ache of an old, forgiven wrongdoing and the sting of a freshly opened wound, revolting and traumatic. This wasn’t like adding memories before. This wasn't the way Lise had slipped gently into his brain as if she'd always been there. Dazed, he began frantically looking for a way to shut the streaming data off. The memories kept forcing their way in, unrelenting, and he couldn’t concentrate.

_The inmates beat him. Then the social worker beats him. The priest beats him. The guards beat him. The inmates beat him some more. He’s battered and bruised, sore pangs of pain shooting through his body. Soft tissue, well pummeled._

_How is there blood dripping from his nose when he’s hardlight?_

_He’s angry and afraid. Afraid takes precedence. He sticks near Lister as much as possible. Safe, predictable Lister._

_He’s going to die. Die_ very _soon. The others crowd around him in a circle to protect him. Lister’s hand finds his wrist and squeezes._

_He’s falling. His shin scrapes against a hard metal grate. The hard ground knocks the wind out of him and there’s a sharp pain in his ankle where he landed on it. Cold. Alone. He looks up and there’s Lister's worried face._

Rimmer rested his forehead on the edge of the desk. The memories were heavier now, slogging into his consciousness with more difficulty. Dense, hard to parse. They kicked up a harsh cacophony of confusion where they didn’t match with his own. It wasn’t what happened, yet it was. He couldn’t think. 

_Lister is banging on about Kochanski again. He does that a lot. He’s complaining about how she compares him to ‘her Dave.’ She talks about him too much. He’s so much more perfect. Rimmer scoffs at this because Lister does the same thing with ‘his Rimmer.’ He wants to point this hypocrisy out, to taunt his cellmate, but doesn’t want to seem like he cares._

_Lister is panicking. He’s claustrophobic. Rimmer didn’t know he was claustrophobic. Time is ticking. Rimmer is panicking._

_There’s something scratchy in his pocket when he sticks his hand in. He has a ball of Lister’s short and curlies. He’d forgotten. He puts them in the toilet and flushes._

It wasn’t getting any easier, but Rimmer had given up. He tried to sit still and not linger on any of the flashbacks. Waking dreams layered themselves onto his own recollections. He tried to let them wash over him without resistance. 

_Lister keeps trying to apologize to Kochanski, but she's royally pissed off. He gives her two bags of flour and it doesn’t seem to patch anything up. Lister is gutted. It’s the stupidest thing Rimmer has ever watched._

_Lister has his guitar strings back and he’s smiling again. Rimmer assumed that it was a wind up, but he actually writes the smeggy song. It’s really, terrifically, unequivocally awful. He absolutely refuses to listen to it, but when he catches a glimpse of the written lyrics sitting on the cell table, he secretly feels flattered._

_Lister is reading ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ out loud in hushed tones while Rimmer lays with his hands folded in the bottom bunk. The cell is dark and still after lights-out and the small glow of a smuggled mini torch peeks out from around the upper mattress. Lister has skipped ahead to the good bits._

_Lister’s hot breath hits his neck. Rimmer is confused, anxious, and very horny._

Rimmer’s muscles tensed. This memory was his first time with Lister. But there was also another. He couldn’t put his finger on why there were two.

_Lister’s resting his head on his hand in the black of night. He’s crowded against Rimmer in the narrow bunk. His thigh crosses over Rimmer’s hips and when he peels away the jumpsuits they can feel the heat of their skin connecting._

_Rimmer can’t help the lustful gasp that slips from his mouth. They have to be quiet. Hands flex, lips purse, nostrils flare. It's just being wanted, it's such an aphrodisiac._

_Lister runs his hand, hot and heavy, over Rimmer's neck, over his nipples and stomach until it settles in the soft brown curls and Rimmer is whimpering. Lister slowly thumbs the wet spot at the tip of his cellmate's cock before drawing it out to rub along his own._

Rimmer could tell a ball of rage was forming in his gut. Small and pestering at first, it fed on the scene, steadily threatening to grow. It was directed towards himself, but it wasn't self-loathing. 

_Rimmer's hands are tangled in Lister's stupid haircut, keeping him close. His kisses are urgent and blundering. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he's doing it wholeheartedly. He forgets where he is._

_Lister is tenderly stroking them both, letting the skin slide up and down as they push in and out of his hand._

_Lister brushes a finger on Rimmer's cheek and lets it float down to his ribcage. There it traces circles as Rimmer loses his mind and makes a mess of the bunk between them._

_Humming happily, Lister ruts into Rimmer's wet stomach, pulling on his own cock until he too finishes with little pants and moans._

Rimmer realised he was on the floor. He didn't remember how he got there. The lead dangled loose above his head, swinging lazily. He didn't have the will to move. It was easier to lay there than to try and hold himself up while the images assaulted him. Vaguely he thought that something was very wrong. He let that thought fly away, unable to act upon it. 

_He’s naked in public and it’s not a bad dream this time. Looking at Lister, they both realise they have to own up to this gaffe. Rimmer wonders if it’s possible to fashion a crude loincloth from peeled potatoes._

_There’s a dinosaur and it’s eating vindaloo. That can’t be right, but there it is._

_Lister is leaning in close to Kochanski and she’s laughing. She’s forgiven him and Lister only has eyes for her. Rimmer brushes off the night they spent together as a dumb mistake. At least he'd doubled his lifetime number of sexual liaisons._

_There’s fire everywhere and he can’t breathe. He’s so close, tried so hard to get here, but beams come crashing down from the ceiling and he knows he’s not going to make it in time. One last failure in a long line of them. In the distance, as his vision blurs and everything goes dark, he sees someone wearing what looks like bacofoil._

The new memories stopped abruptly, the upload complete. Still, Rimmer’s thoughts swam and buffeted against each other where they didn’t link up. He retched but nothing came out. Clearly he’d done something incorrectly. 

His first coherent thought was shock at not being dead under a pile of rubble. Then, an understanding of who was in the bacofoil. He remembered he wanted to be home and just have everything be the same as before, but when he tried to think of where he’d spent the last several months, he couldn’t tell which set of facts were true. He knew of course that they both happened, but just a little while ago he’d been one or the other of the Rimmers and it wasn’t evident which.

As he gazed aimlessly upward, a face came into view.

“Rimmer?? What were you doing?? Are you okay?”

Kochanski knelt near him, inspecting him like some cat-suited paramedic. Rimmer groaned. The last thing he wanted was a chat with Lister's plummy, judgemental girlfriend. 

"Isn't it obvious? I was just having my usual kip on the holosuite floor."

She carefully lifted his back to coax him into sitting upright, which he reluctantly complied with. He took a brief moment to note that his eyes were at perfect breast observation height.

"What are you doing here anyway?" He grumbled crossly. "Aren't you on drive room duty? Just nipped down for a midnight guffaw at my dreams?"

"Rimmer, the whole ship was going haywire. The holosuite isn’t built to exceed 20,000 gigawatts. I thought someone was down here trying to run a second hologram. What the hell were you doing?"

"Oh, calm down. I only merged my two backup files."

At this, Kochanski pulled her ruby red lips into a taut line. "You mean… you and him?"

"Me and _me."_ Rimmer snapped, leaning away. “You’re talking to ‘him.’ Now, if you don't mind, it's disorienting enough without getting the third degree." He wanted to stand but didn't trust his legs.

Kochanski gave him a pitying look. Her hand found his shoulder and patted. "You can't just merge that many months of continuity discrepancies like this. It's like _brain surgery._ You have to reboot, defrag, and reindex. No wonder. You've been basically running two holograms on one lightbee."

Rimmer looked away with a sneer and waved her off. "As you can plainly see, I'm perfectly fine now. Don’t bother with the lecture." 

Kochanski gave him an unfriendly smile as she stood up. "Look, I used to help my Dave with his maintenance routines all the time. Just let me tidy up your contradicting timelines and we'll have you right as rain." She plopped decisively into the desk chair in front of the console.

Rimmer cringed inwardly. He knew he needed the help. He was just ashamed. But he was used to shame. Self preservation won that clash of titans every time. 

He cleared his throat tentatively. "And you… won't tell the others?" He stared at her with wary eyes.

"Tell them what?" Kochanski's cheeky laugh rang like a bell. "That you merged your files or that you almost killed yourself and shorted out Red Dwarf in the process?"

Rimmer made a snide, mocking face but didn’t reply.

She helped him feebly stumble into another chair before starting the chore. As the tools ran on his program, he began to feel clearer headed, he had to admit. One by one, the division and unity of the disparate memories fell into place. 

While a rather sluggish process swept through the files, Kochanski leaned back to take a good look at the hologram. Secure and comfortable, he had let himself relax once more. Still, he looked rough in his dishevelled pyjamas.

"He spoke about you a lot.” She said, a tiny smile on her lips. “Dave, I mean." 

Rimmer let out a bitter chuckle instinctively. "I know." 

His expression dropped in surprise. "I _do_ know." 

"I suppose you would. Before the nanobots too though. He really missed you."

Rimmer thought back to the drunken apology he'd received. It had been forgotten in the chaos. He ducked his head. 

"Probably just the searing guilt from seeing me off to my inevitable doom." He spat.

_"No,"_ She said through a laugh. "He really was lost without you. You kept him going. Even if you _are_ a weasel."

Rimmer wasn't sure where to put his eyes. He sniffed dismissively. "Lister's always been… overly sentimental." Glancing back in her direction with suspicion, he scoffed, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Just making conversation." Kochanski hummed, returning to her task.

In the tiny hours of the morning when he made his way back to the bunkroom, a new aromatic treat greeted Rimmer's nose. He found Lister happily curled up in the sheets with a full meal's worth of reclaimed curry as his bedfellow. The crisp white bed clothes would be permanently turmeric yellow from now on. Watching him snore happily in his own filth, Rimmer considered for the first time in years that the last man alive may _actually_ need him in order to stay sane. 

…

Rimmer immediately found plenty of new, frivolous ways to add meaning to his life. Falling back into a routine on Red Dwarf suited him well. There were literal miles of machinery, supplies, and corridors to inspect, which he did with authentic pleasure. He was going through four reams of paper a week with all the new forms and logs for his binders. In the back of his mind, he considered this a core duty for the "Head of Safety," though he wisely chose not to use the fictitious title in front of the crew.

They’d recently scouted out a much nicer bunkroom on the officer’s deck, near Kochanski's. All the moving and arranging and hanging of things on the walls was an abject delight for the hologram. This room even had a real closet. Despite never wearing any of them, Rimmer had spent hours sorting his clothes by color. He then spent more hours switching his closet to alphabetical order. Displeased with this, he decided it was time to change back to the color system.

Lister had uncharacteristically taken extra care in the move. The prospect that Kochanski may come by at any time seemed to motivate a tidier room. Little things were different about him too. His bed was haphazardly made. No socks stiff with weeks of hard use adorned the floor. He used deodorant with an unheard of frequency.

Rimmer was just determining which beige was darker, the Desert Sand or the British Khaki, when Lister emerged from the bathroom smelling of a fresh spring morning. His black dressing gown was clean and new, as was the towel he rubbed on his face. Rimmer raised an eyebrow but said nothing about it.

“Kryten’s just been here. He’s left you a meal.” He gestured uncaringly at the table where a well-presented tray with a domed serving cover sat.

“Brutal.” Lister said. When he threw the towel, it landed in the hamper. Not hanging out one side, but all the way in.

Rimmer, engrossed in the proper matching of trousers to dress shirts, didn’t immediately notice the contents of Lister’s plate. However, when he heard an unusual crunch, it caught his attention.

There, in the midst of being eaten by a man who put lager in his milkshakes and drank chilled vindaloo sauce, was an enormous romaine and spring mix salad.

Lister didn’t seem to be enjoying himself. He kept adding more salad cream in an attempt to drown the crispy greens, taking big, painful mouthfuls with determination. Rimmer looked on incredulously as bite after bite his bunkmate continued this strange self-flagellation ritual.

“No. Now this has gone far too far. Are you _actually_ eating what I think you’re eating?”

Lister shrugged. “I’m just trying to take care of me health, you know, man? Eat right, exercise, smarten up a bit and that." He jabbed a crouton with extra aggression.

"Is this a wind up? You care less about health and wellness than a suicidal skydiver. A man who thinks the five food groups are curry, beer, choccy bars, toenails, and whatever-you-find-at-the bottom-of-your-pockets does not suddenly start caring about his health.”

"Aren't you the one who's always on me to clean up? I'm doing this because I _want_ to. It's…" Lister took a bite and tried to grin. It came out as a grimace. "Good."

“Raw vegetables? Your mortal enemy? _Look at you._ It’s bizarre. And where's the lager? Lately you've been more sober than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.”

“That’s not true. Me and Kriss had syrah in the botanical garden Tuesday.”

_“Syrah?? Syrah,_ Lister?” Rimmer’s brow knit with disbelief. “Since when does the word _syrah_ come out of your mouth? No trainers in the fridge, clean socks, surprising lack of pubic hairs on the soap, and now you’re drinking _syrah._ Next thing you know you’ll be wearing tweed and attending obscure operas.” He waved his little finger to demonstrate, before diving back into his sorting. “Still, I can’t say I don’t prefer the improved version. Certainly the aroma around here has benefited. All the long, sudsy showers with Kochanski must be doing wonders for your hygiene.” 

“What? I can’t be interested in self-betterment without some sexual ulterior motive? Besides, she hates showers, I asked.”

“Oh, lovely!” Rimmer said primly. “Something you two have in common.”

Lister rolled his eyes and set down the fork in defeat. “I'm not sleeping with Kriss, okay.”

_“Still?”_ Rimmer was genuinely surprised. Lister had been unsubtly pursuing the woman of his dreams non-stop, so naturally Rimmer assumed they were together by now. It did explain the salad — He was getting desperate. 

“Hey man, you don't have to rub it in.” Lister said with mild offense. His voice then turned despondent. “She’s totally not interested in me. She still wants to get back to her own dimension and _‘her Dave.’”_ He made a look of annoyed disgust at the last words.

“Ohhh, Listy.” Rimmer grinned in pleasure at his bunkmate’s misery. “Not the Don Juan we once were?”

“Wait, so what did you think? That we sleep together and then she kicks me out every night?”

Rimmer returned to sorting the Natural Canvas suits to the left of the Pebble ones. “Lister, I’m afraid that doesn’t sound nearly as ridiculous as you think it does. Sharing quarters with you is like trying to sleep below the London Philharmonic if it were made up entirely of sick lumberjacks. I, for one, wouldn’t blame her.”

Lister looked back at his soggy salad, poking it with no intention of continuing to eat. “ _Time,_ these things take _time.”_

“So I suppose you’re doing all this to try and trick her into bed then, are you?” The hologram’s eyes grew soft with pompous false concern. “Who are you kidding? This isn’t _you._ Salad isn’t _you. You_ is a rectal rendition of ‘Roxanne’ with a kazoo. Face it Lister, you can't keep this up forever.”

“I’m not trying to _trick_ anyone, Rimmer.” The scouser sighed deeply and looked at the ceiling. “I dunno. That’s just what someone who’s good for you does to you. Makes you wanna be a better person.”

Rimmer’s chest tightened as a hint of anger rose in his throat. “Romantic codswallop.” His mind shot back to his decision to leave the Enlightenment. Then leaving Starbug. The only thing getting close to anyone ever did for him was a change in scenery.

“Hey, try the romantic codswallop sometime.” Lister kicked back and put his pristine feet on the table. “That’s why women like me. That and because I’m such an incredibly good-looking macho dreamboat.”

“Oh, don’t refer to yourself as a ‘dreamboat.’ Podgy gerbils don’t qualify as ‘dreamboats.’”

“C’mon, you didn't think that when I gave you all those head spinning orgasms.”

Rimmer froze stiff. Eyes on his work, his back to his bunkmate, he cleared his throat. “So you do remember that.” He said mildly. “Seemed like you’d forgotten.” He flattened a lapel idly with a stroke of his thumb.

Lister remained silent for a moment, his gaze locked on the back of Rimmer’s head where the hologram imagined he could feel it searching him. The chair creaked as Lister stood.

“Listen, sorry about that, man.” The soft voice came from behind him. “I just... I had meself believing you were something you're not. I can’t blame you for that.”

Rimmer crumpled the neatly pressed Acorn Twill shirt in his fists. He turned to meet Lister’s eyes. “It’s baffling how you could possibly mistake me for anything else. You’ve despised me since we met.”

Lister cracked a sad grin at that. “Yeah, so I wouldn’t have touched you in a million years back then. But it’s been _three million._ I can’t help if you started to look good.”

The hologram’s brows shot up. “Wow. Save some of the sappy drivel for the Hallmark card.”

"I already wrote you a smegging song and you didn't like that either. It's what I got." Lister shook his head. "Listen. Leaving us to die was a prick move, Rimmer, and it pissed me off. But. You are who you are and I'm glad you're back."

_“Please._ You don't even like me.”

“I mean, you could do to lighten up a bit.” Lister shrugged and then quietly added, "But I liked… us. It was nice though, yeah?"

"Yes, I suppose." Red flashed on Rimmer's cheeks as he tried to busy himself. 

"You and me." Lister's voice sank. 

Rimmer hummed noncommittally.

"We had fun." Brown eyes glanced down and back up. He was seeking something beyond affirmation. There was an honesty in his tone, regretful and open. 

Testing, Lister stepped closer. 

“Fun.” Rimmer nodded hesitantly.

Lister’s hand reached out, landing light on Rimmer’s arm. “I missed you, man.” 

Rimmer didn’t want to be second choice, a tide over, a bit on the side, whatever, but the touch was fireworks to his skin and the want in Lister’s stare bypassed his senses, going straight for the groin. Slowly, he looked down at the fingers on his forearm. 

“Fun.” He said again, mouth dry.

“Fun.” Lister agreed. His head tilted in closer.

"Oh, God." The hologram croaked helplessly. 

Tossing his now wrinkled shirt, Rimmer closed the gap, smashing against his bunkmate furiously. Hand rubbing up and down his back, he drew the scouser in, pressing hard and heavy together. With no patience, he pushed his tongue in to glide insistently along Lister’s.

Lister didn’t taste right. He didn’t smell right. He had the proper Dave Lister brand musk, but underpinned by toothpaste and aftershave and salad cream. The wrongness of the sensation took him by surprise. Still, shock aside, it was actually rather pleasant and Rimmer inhaled deeply to hold onto it. It was the taste of Lister trying too hard. The scent of his hapless infatuation manifesting in a few extra visits to the shower cubicle. Better yet, it was the proof of his continuous rejection and that gave Rimmer a tiny thrill of schadenfreude.

“Lock!” Lister shouted at the wide-open door. It slid shut with a hiss. 

A roaming hand slipped around to Rimmer's back, rumpling the tunic up high. He flinched when it found its way down past the hem to the bare skin of his arse.

"Want you." Lister breathed into the hologram's mouth. His wandering fingers pressed tighter to emphasize his intentions. “Want your stupid blue suit on the floor. Want your shirty mouth on me.”

“Kochanski?” Rimmer asked, rolling his nose down the soft rise of his bunkmate’s cheekbone.

“Mmm, don’t reckon there’s a reason to talk about her right now.” Lister responded, sliding his hand up, out, and around to the front. “Do you?”

Rimmer clinched his jaw as the hand cupped his crotch emphatically through the fabric. His half-hard cock twitched, pushing right back. Eyes squeezing shut and with a catch in his throat, he forced a high-pitched, “No. Not in the least.”

Eagerly, Rimmer pushed back the cotton dressing gown to get at Lister’s ribs. Hot, hungry, he felt the arc where his bunkmate’s side curved into the edge of his pecs. The skin was radiating heat where it had been tucked under the warm cloth and Lister shivered as he continued to slowly work Rimmer through his trousers.

“Damn it, Lister.” Rimmer gasped softly into the scouser’s neck, struggling to hold back a groan. His legs felt weaker with each press. His own hand dipped to rub along Lister’s stomach, brushing the sparse line of hair that led into his red boxers. Catching Lister’s lips again, Rimmer let his fingertips dawdle at the elastic. 

“Brand new, fresh out the pack, clean underwear.” Lister giggled, letting the wisps of air float around Rimmer’s neck. He nudged his hips forward into the touch. “Someone ‘round here ought to appreciate them.”

“Listen,” Rimmer stated plainly, swallowing hard. _“If_ you happen to be a slavering, shape-shifting creature that’s murdered Lister hideously and is currently doing a particularly crap impersonation, _keep it to yourself, I don’t give a smeg.”_

“Oh, shut up.” Lister said with warning in his voice, eyes rolling. He gave the hologram a threatening squeeze. Rimmer moaned openly at this and lurched, pressing their chests together. Lister responded by gleefully pushing his bunkmate back in a wet snog, throwing him off balance. 

Behind them, knocked unsteady by their rough grabbing and tugging, the pile of uniforms slumped to the ground. A clattering of coat hangers jangled against the tile. Rimmer panted, soft and desperate into the other man’s jaw, finding any surface he could to lick and suck. Impatiently, he yanked at the dressing gown, trying to remove it while Lister seemed reluctant to pull his arms away to slip through the sleeves. At last, it joined the rest of the strewn clothing, pooling quietly at their feet.

Lister encouraged Rimmer to move toward the floor, using his weight to drag the wobbly-kneed hologram downward. 

“But, bed?” Rimmer asked, catching his breath. Pushing and panting they fell against the soft pile of clothes, fingers dragging along skin. A coat hanger lodged itself against the hologram’s shoulder.

“Don’t need it.” Lister said matter-of-fact. Bulldozing his bunkmate into the nest of wrinkled cotton twill and polyester, he seemed feverishly focused on the press and pull of lips and fingers above all else. Rimmer’s arse dragged along the tile underneath as his bunkmate’s legs surrounded him, pinning him down, rough and demanding.

Between deep kisses, Lister’s head dropped to dot pecks along Rimmer’s neckline. He tugged down the high blue collar to reach what he could underneath. Rimmer took the opportunity to sink his nose into the tight black curls and breathe in the sweet smell of whatever conditioner the scouser must have decided Kochanski might like. It was subtle and fruity and mild and his cock twitched automatically at the scent. As Lister drifted lower down his body, undoing the thick blue tunic, he felt dreadlocks trailing soft, heavy lines along his chest.

Lister worked his knee between Rimmer's thighs, pushing them apart to an uneasy "Ahh?" Squaring his hips, the scouser took a hold of Rimmer's waist and hauled their bodies together. He began to grind the straining erections into each other through the shining blue trousers, growling lightly with the effort. Each slow roll of his hips was met with equal enthusiasm from below.

On his elbows, Lister lowered himself flush with Rimmer's body, pressing his weight into him. Sliding his arms up, he encircled the hologram's head for another kiss. Running fingers through the gelled curls, he melted fully into the other man, head to toe. 

Rimmer pushed urgently against the thick line of his bunkmate’s impressive size. A little spark went off every time his cockhead bumped in just the right spot, and he twisted and shimmied to hit the angle again and again. 

Dissatisfied with just this, Lister finagled his finger into the zip at the blue fly. Rimmer was more than pleased with this change of direction, heart racing at the thought of the scouser’s warm, wet mouth wrapping around him. Taking the prompt, he hurriedly unclipped the snap and together they wiggled his uniform open until his erection jumped out between them. Stiff and straight, it was already at full mast and the relief from the too-tight pressure made him sigh.

Lister pulled the hard-on into his hand, pumping at a leisurely pace. Smoothly, the skin pushed up and down over the crimson head, which Rimmer watched in happy disbelief. The view made his breathing ragged — the way Lister’s bicep clinched slightly at each stroke, the dark circles of his nipples rising and falling with his breath, the little pearls of precum forming at the tip of the cock and dripping down, only to be swept up and spread by foreskin.

The hologram’s chest was tight. If he didn’t get more he was going to explode.

“Listy, _please.”_ Rimmer squeaked. 

Lister knew exactly what this meant — it was how Rimmer always asked — and grinned at the request. Sliding down to kneel, he put his lips tantalisingly close, but only kept pulling slowly at the little pink cock.

“Did you want something, Rimmer?” He asked, letting his breath hit the wet head.

“You can start by sucking me off, you goit.” The hologram grumbled, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Lister squinted, eyes lit with a glow of amusement. “Hmm. Love when you talk dirty, darlin’.” He dipped down to glide his tongue under the foreskin. Rimmer bucked and whined at the invasion as his bunkmate swirled around the head gently. Pleased with this reaction, the scouser mercifully took the hard-on into his mouth.

Rimmer, whimpering, clutched at whatever his hands could reach. First the clothes around him and then, as Lister leaned over him, the curve of his bunkmate's shoulders. 

Long, deep bobs of Lister’s head sent Rimmer reeling. A choir was singing sweet music in his head and in his groin and he realised he was at risk of coming already. He pressed his fingers hard around the base of his cock, trying to suppress the intensity.

Lister, perhaps sensing this, eased up. Brown eyes on Rimmer’s hazel, he sucked tiny kisses along the slack skin instead. A sudden, soft nibble wrung a half-moan, half-shout out of the hologram. 

“Fuck. Rimmer.” Lister panted. He crawled up to find his bunkmate’s lips again. Rimmer’s mind swam, overwhelmed and greedy for the feel of skin against skin. Dotingly, his hand explored the cut of Lister’s bare shoulder blade while his tongue sank further in.

Pressing forward again into the other man’s cock, Lister hummed with the yearning of their long separation. Pulling back up, he caught Rimmer’s eyes once more. “Will you shag me?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Rimmer gasped between breaths. His lips floated beautifully close to Lister’s neck.

“No. No, fuck, I mean _really_ shag me.” Lister asserted, pulling his hips forward. He pushed his plump arse against Rimmer’s erection with insistence. The stiff cock slid softly down the silky fabric covering the hollow between his cheeks.

Rimmer cleared his dry throat, “Oh. _Oh._ Oh god yes, yes please.” He begged, pushing back into the arse with matched interest. He’d been fantasising about taking Lister since he accidentally found him enjoying that sort of thing on the grainy blackbox recording. The idea of being fully engulfed in his bunkmate, bending him over, making him cry for more had brought him to climax more than one lonely night.

Lister lowered himself into an embrace and chuckled softly against Rimmer’s chest, smiling. “I thought you might.” He huffed, rolling teasingly against Rimmer’s cock again. “You always seem… _thrusty.”_

“Nirvanah called it ‘gusto.’”

Lister laughed one cheerful “Ha!” before cupping Rimmer’s face in both hands for another kiss. Rimmer closed his eyes to savor it until he was then shoved back down playfully. “Okay, Officer Gusto. I’m finding lube. You, get this stupid smegging stuff off.” He snapped the braces along Rimmer’s stomach, making him flinch. “You’re locked up tighter than a medieval chastity belt here.” 

Crossing the room, Lister went for their bunks. Much to the hologram’s embarrassment, it wasn’t his own bed he reached into, but instead he was investigating Rimmer’s bottom bunk. Much more quickly than was decent, he was able to extract a sad, grey bottle of JMC standard issue ‘personal lubricant’ from the thin space between the mattress and headboard. It was tidy, but the label was worn at the edge from solo use. Rimmer grimaced.

“How did you…?” He weakly began to ask.

Lister waved the little bottle, “It’s the same place you always keep your diary.” His eyebrows jumped up and a wry grin crossed his lips. _“Anyway,_ you’re not as subtle as you think.” 

Rimmer’s cock twitched involuntarily in the air.

Recalling his side of the bargain, Rimmer loosened the clips on his braces. One popped up, hitting him hard in the nipple and making him hiss with pain and anger. Determined to disrobe efficiently, he ignored this and began to squirm out of the restrictive suit, but the tunic seemed to disagreeably twist and catch so that it felt like a straight-jacket. When he was finally free of it, he lifted his hips to slide the trousers down his legs. It was then that he realised his tall boots were still on. Pushing down, he attempted to remove everything at once, but the move only served to lodge his trousers more firmly around his ankles. Fumbling and cursing, he grabbed for his lightbee remote from where it lived, neatly tucked next to his pen in the right-hand pocket. The rest of his uniform dissolved in one click.

Lifting his head, he noticed Lister had been watching the most unsexy strip-tease ever with an open-mouth expression smack-dab in the middle of hilarity and a cringe. Rimmer expected a scathing insult or sarcastic quip, but the scouser just shook his head in amazement.

“Lister.” Rimmer croaked, unable to articulate himself any better. 

Lister took pity on him and returned. “Smeghead.” He said, leaning in to capture his lips.

Mouth occupied, Rimmer’s fingers blindly groped for his bunkmates’s waist and traveled down to the taut elastic hem just below. He slowly slid the boxers downward, Lister arching with him, and let his knuckles run along the smooth skin as they went. His reward was the sizable hard-on pulling on the fabric and escaping with a spring, drawing out a groan from the scouser. The tip dragged lightly against his stomach. As Lister shifted to kick the boxers the rest of the way off, Rimmer allowed himself two big handfuls of his bunkmate’s arse.

Lister had an incredible arse. Round and firm and the perfect proportions for imagining quietly while you wank off in an unfamiliar dimension in an unfamiliar room. Sinking his fingers into the plush bottom was steadying to Rimmer’s unstable universe. Lister was his one constant, the one thing over the years that signaled everything was good and safe and he was home. And it was truly an extraordinary arse.

Lister sat back, straddling his bunkmate, their balls sitting nestled against each other. He opened the bottle of lube, letting the cool fluid drip out along his palm before pressing it into Rimmer’s hard-on.

“If you’re gonna do this, Rimmer,” Lister said, dragging his words as he coated the cock generously. “You’re gonna have to get me ready first.” He reached for the hologram’s right wrist and brought the hand up where he could slather a layer of slippery lubrication onto the slender fingers. With an expert motion, he pulled Rimmer towards his backside, a clear indicator of what he wanted next.

“I.. I’ve never, I don’t know…” Rimmer stammered, uncertain.

Lister bent over to place an encouraging nuzzle on the hologram’s jaw. “Just do what feels good when you touch yourself.” He muttered roughly into his cheek. “Just touch me.”

Rimmer tentatively stretched his arm behind Lister to search for the delicate, puckered ring of his hole. Nervously he began to circle its soft rosette with his forefinger, all the while holding a groan at the back of his throat. He’d been inside another person depressingly few times in his life or death, and the idea of burying himself in his bunkmate’s slick heat was almost more than he could handle, making him twitch and drip like a fool.

He earned a delicious purr immediately, followed by more pumps along his length where Lister still held him firmly. Emboldened, he pushed inward.

_“Yes.”_ Lister moaned, pushing back into it.

Lister was tight. His body offered some resistance, but as Rimmer began to slide in and out, exploring deeper each time, the muscles relaxed around his finger. The first time the full length made it inside, Lister gasped and dug his face into the hologram’s shoulder. 

Rimmer flushed bright with arousal, feeling the warmth in his cheeks and down his neck. He loved the way Lister was opening up for him, wanted him. It made him feel like a stud to know his thrusts, the way he moved, was the cause of his bunkmate’s shivering and soft cursing. 

“More.” Lister breathed, putting the bottle in Rimmer’s free hand. He pulled at the hologram’s cock with additional excitement while he watched him apply another wet glob to his digits. Two fingers introduced themselves this time and he rolled his hips into it with pleasure.

Rimmer scolded himself silently to get it together and be more strategic. Concentrating, he hunted for the little bump, massaging and curling. When the way he dragged the pad of his finger against it made Lister arch and gasp and tug too hard at Rimmer’s hair, he decided he ought to do that a bit more.

By the time he had moved on to experimenting with circles, Lister was panting and stooped, sighing small choruses of _“Unn”_ with the rhythm.

“Smeg, man.” He said hoarsely, pushing himself up. “I need you in me, _now.”_

Rimmer’s hands hung in the air as Lister emptied the little bottle over the hologramatic cock. The cold liquid hitting him made him jerk and exhale hard, but he didn’t complain.

Lister was open and wet as he lifted up on one foot to ease his arse down. Rocking forward and back, he gingerly guided Rimmer further in, stopping now and then to pace himself. 

“God. Oh…” Was all that Rimmer could say. He bit his lip hard and gripped Lister’s thighs harder as the muscles hugged against his cock, squeezing him delicately while they welcomed him in. This was so much tighter than a woman, so much softer than a hand, so much better than a mouth. Overjoyed, he knew this was his new favorite place to be and somewhere he promptly resolved to visit often.

Lister’s arse sank flush with his bunkmate’s hips. A content and heavy sigh exited him. “God, I missed this.” He rasped, more to himself than anyone else. Rimmer’s hips twitched upward into the warm sensation, compelled by animal instinct. 

“‘Ey, steady!” Lister scolded, “Let me do it for now.” Rimmer whined, nostrils aquiver, but kept himself still.

When the scouser began the job of riding the cock up and down, Rimmer could hear the slick sounds of lube and feel rivulets trickling down his arse to the ground. Each slide surpassed the last in intensity, once again building up the white heat in his cock as it squeezed. Fighting not to buck into his bunkmate, he shakily pet whatever was in groping distance. He started with the straining thighs, drinking in the feeling of the muscles flexing under his palms, then strayed upward, settling his thumbs in the dip of the V where it met curls. He watched with adoration as Lister’s stomach stuck out, clenching and unclenching with exertion as he maneuvered to just the right angle. His cock stood tall and neglected, curving toward the ceiling. Rimmer let his finger run its length, meandering around the lightly dribbling tip. 

_“Listy.”_ Rimmer squeaked, not knowing how else to express his complete devotion to the scouser’s body. 

_“Rimmer.”_ Lister panted back, high and trembling. Rimmer’s simulated heart did a flip and an odd tingle in his belly made him feel like he was sparkling. He had never heard his name quite like that — cried out in rapture with complete abandon, and on his bunkmate’s lips. It was the single hottest thing his miserable sex life had ever encountered. Lister wanted him. Lister _needed_ him.

Rimmer frantically clasped Lister’s hips, holding them down. His delirious groaning betrayed the rapid approach of his orgasm.

“Ah, not yet, not yet, I’m not done.” Lister babbled, gripping the hologram’s wrists.

“I can’t— I can’t—” Rimmer peeped, nearing the inevitable. What he couldn't do was never revealed as the delicious sensation swelled in him, exploding like a tsunami, uncontrollable and sweeping.

All at once, Lister’s insides were far more slippery. Rimmer ground pathetic little thrusts into the slick, wet hole, feeling his own come surround him, each push paired with a new trickle escaping down his balls.

Despite himself, Lister was leaning into it, relishing how easily the cock moved in and out with the extra lubrication. It wasn’t until Rimmer was clearly accelerating that he realised the hologram wasn’t just trying to finish, but was in fact already going for an encore. 

“Smegging _hell,_ Rimmer,” Lister gasped. He positioned himself a bit further up, slanting to give Rimmer better access, and took himself in hand. His strokes harmonized to the rhythm of being driven into over and over. 

The only thing they could hear over their own frayed panting was the wet sound of lube and smacking together. With his hands dug into Lister’s pliable hip, Rimmer picked up pace. Hammering away like a complete idiot, his world closed in to encompass nothing but the hot flesh tightening around his cock.

The exhilaration took Lister at last as every muscle in his body seized up. Curling back to push Rimmer against his prostate, he let himself go.

Rimmer had missed the way Lister’s eyebrows went up and his mouth fell open right when he came. He missed the unguarded pants of _“Uhh unn ahh,”_ loud and sincere and melodious. He missed the sense of accomplishment, the pride, the chance to smuggly applaud his own meager prowess.

Still sensitive and worked up, it didn’t take much before Rimmer followed his bunkmate over the edge, contractions wracking him as he sheathed himself one final, glorious time. Straining and humming, he emptied into Lister again, cock weakly jerking against the plush walls of his body.

Useless and spent, he lay back while his erection twitched and began to subside. 

Dripping and out of puff, Lister lifted from Rimmer’s lap and allowed himself to fall to the side. He normally fancied himself a cuddler, but his exhaustion seemed insurmountable, leaving him to contentedly sprawl where gravity took him. Maybe he was getting old. Instead, he halfheartedly flopped a palm on Rimmer's leg, squeezing his shin gently. 

Gratified, Rimmer studied the eggshell white grating on the ceiling while he waited for his heart to stop pounding. It had a sort of hatch pattern to it, three slats this way and three slats that. But, at one end they'd added an additional lengthwise rail. It really bugged him. Really, really bugged him.

"Needed that." Lister breathed harshly, bringing the hologram back down from the ceiling. 

Rimmer was warm and satisfied but when he glanced at his bunkmate's happy grin, the space between them was enormous. Though they'd been as physically close as possible that day, there remained something profoundly separate about them. A distance approximately the width and breadth of Kristine Kochanski. He wanted to crawl over and wrap himself tenderly around Lister, but he couldn't make it past her. So, he resigned himself to stay put.

Lister was the one who recovered from the paralytic afterglow first, rolling to hook an arm over Rimmer's thigh. He wiped up the gunk on his bunkmate’s chest with the dressing gown before, grinning wide, he lovingly lifted the limp hologramatic dick and admired it. 

"Hey guy, your tackle's got some talents." 

Rimmer turned red, "I’m fairly certain there must be a Space Corps directive about not waving your superior’s todger about like a victory flag.”

Lister surrendered it obediently and mock saluted, "Yes, sir, Mr. Rimmer, sir! Recommending private Lil’ Rimmer for the _‘Long Service and Good Conduct’_ medal, sir!” He nodded gravely. “Proper decoration. Of course, you'll have to walk around with your zip down for anyone to see it.”

Rimmer dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and groaned. The bubbly mood Lister was in just seemed to grate.

Lister smooshed his cheek against the hologram’s stomach. “Ey, if he's promoted ahead of you, that makes him Acting Senior Officer."

_“Lister!”_ Rimmer snapped. His tone was a tad sharper than he meant to make it. The cloud caused by exceptional horniness and a long-standing homesickness had cleared away and in its place he just felt like he was being played with. To make matters worse, Lister had forgotten that Kochanski now technically held the prestigious title of ‘Acting Senior Officer,’ a fact Rimmer more than mildly resented.

Lister pulled himself up, taken off guard by the change. “Hey, hey, okay, it’s just a wind up.” He shifted to give his bunkmate a kind kiss. “And a _compliment,_ smeghead.” When he leaned back in to sink more deeply into Rimmer’s lips, his eyes had softened.

This was a different touch than before, lingering, gentle, peaceful. They tangled together, rolling to their sides, breathless, and tired, and maybe Rimmer didn’t have a chance, but at least he couldn't let go of whatever this was. He'd never been opposed to meaningless sex in theory, he just seemed unable to do it right. When something as crap as his single, brief evening with McGruder gave him a torch to carry for years, what else could be expected?

Lister let his lips fall away with a warmhearted smile. He apparently had taken the hint to shut up, because he only brushed a few curls off Rimmer’s forehead and settled back to look at him. This close, Rimmer could see the scouser’s 5 o’clock shadow just barely starting to come in. Marveling at the way the little hairs curved around the dimple in his chin, he reached to touch it with his thumb. When his eyes connected again with Lister’s, he suddenly became extremely self-conscious. 

“What are you doing?” Rimmer asked, flitting his gaze away momentarily.

“Staring at you.”

“Why?”

“I like the view. You’re staring at me too.” Lister smirked but didn’t budge.

Rimmer paused, before turning to look back at the extra rail in the ceiling. “This isn't normal you know.” He didn't say what ‘this’ meant, but Lister seemed to get the drift.

“What about our lives has ever been normal?”

Rimmer had to snort at that. “At least you don’t smell like the skip behind an Indian take-away anymore.”

Lister laughed, high and bright before pushing the hologram on the shoulder. “Pfft. You’re cute when you’re not being an arsehole.”

“Again, going for the gold in flattery.” Rimmer pursed his lips in a frown. It took a few moments to collect his confused thoughts. Quietly, he added, “Aren't you worried about Kochanski finding out?”

Lister’s mood instantly darkened, his eyes moving away with hesitation. “No.” He squirmed and attempted to sound nonchalant. “That's our business."

Rimmer watched Lister carefully. The signature optimism wasn’t there.

Softly, he asked, “Do you really think she'll change her mind? Eventually.” It wasn’t a challenge. He just wanted to know.

“I dunno…” Lister’s voice was small and sad. “You’re probably right.”

This made Rimmer inordinately happy. He latched onto it.

“‘You are who you are,’ didn’t you _just_ say?” Condescension dripped from his words, fast and merry. “And Listy, you are the slobbiest entity in the entire universe. All this pathetic primping and preening, it’s like putting a suit on a pig. She’ll never go for it.”

It was, however, working exceptionally well on Rimmer.

Lister propped himself up on his elbow, ready to argue. “Okay, so it won't work, fine. But people _can_ change for the better. Like. What about you becoming Ace, eh?”

Rimmer weighed the pros and cons of honesty, but he wanted to prove a point. Picking his words slowly, he replied, “Suffice it to say I wasn’t altogether, entirely as courageous as some persons may have led some other persons to possibly think. Possibly.”

“All mouth and no trousers?”

“All mouth and no trousers.” Rimmer reluctantly agreed.

“Mmmmm.” Lister growled, a naughty grin crossing his face. “Just the way I like you.” He wrapped his arms around the hologram and hauled him in for a kiss. He snuck a cheeky grab at his arse.

Lister let a satisfied sigh out onto Rimmer’s cheek. “Did you at least get laid by scores of gorgeous women, Big Man?”

“If you must know…”

He hadn’t. Not once.

“Of course I did. Loads.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lister smirked again and Rimmer couldn’t quite read if he believed him or not.

He scrunched up his nose. “Oh, you know. One wild sexual romp after another, women throwing themselves at me endlessly. It got tiresome, really.”

Lister giggled a little at this before letting out a huge groan. "Smeg it, I'm asking Krytes for chicken vindaloo for supper. And lager. God I need a bevvy." 

Lister rearranged a few of the bedraggled beige trousers under them so that he could snuggle in closer, tucking his head in the nook of his bunkmate’s neck and shoulder. In the past, the scouser always did the big-spooning while Rimmer projected mild annoyance. This time, the hologram sidled in, tentatively holding him. 

This — this was okay.

“Smeghead.” Lister said, taking a deep breath.

“Gimboid.” Rimmer acknowledged.

Lister turned his nose into the soft skin at his Adam's apple and whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Looking at the tousled mess of his closet contents, Rimmer determined, after a clean and ironing, switching back to alphabetical order would be the superior organisation method.

**Author's Note:**

> I super welcome constructive feedback!
> 
> Please let me know if you see any typos or unintentional Americanisms.
> 
> Comments make me very happy and let me know you're still reading each update :)


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